More Than Meets the Eye
by ohmasterfunk
Summary: Determined to be rid of a menacing Russian, Kiku seeks for Arthur's help, so that his sick brother could afford some peace and quiet...However, just how much trust is he willing to place on a man he hardly knows? /See prologue for more details./
1. Prologue

Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Kiku, slight Ivan/Yao.  
A/N: I've finally moved this chapter to where it belongs. Thank you LePetitPappillon for suggesting that I should do so.

.x.O.x.

"What's the meaning of this, aru?" Wang Yao faintly turned his head toward the tall figure, his eyes darting up for a clear view of the visitor's countenance. His body lay limply on the bed, heavy with exhaustion; his head cocked to the side languidly. The dark rings under the foggy copper-brown eyes depicted the frailty that could be heard from the subdued quality of his voice. However, despite his wrecked physical state, Yao would not allow his pride to be stomped on by the Russian standing before him. The presence of the ash-blond upset him greatly, for he could feel the growing nausea from his insides, though Wang Yao would deny this reaction for the sake of his image. On the other hand, there was Ivan Braginsky clad in his roughly sewn, brown manteau. Ivan smiled at the reclined figure, his eyes closed cheerily, which made it difficult for the Chinese to distinguish his thoughts.

"Why, Yao, I haven't heard from you for a while," Ivan replied heartily, gradually opening his eyes, "I was beginning to think that you don't want to be found."

Yao looked around frantically, one of his hands busily, shakily searching for his jade sword, "Where are the guards? Somebody call the –"

Wang Yao felt a slight jerk on his wrist, only to realize that the Russian had pinned him to the bed. The Chinese gasped from surprise, his pupils dilating, as he struggled with what feeble strength he had left. Ivan pressed his face closer until he was about to hit Yao's nose; Yao's deep, auburn eyes could not leave Ivan's piercing gaze. Terror struck the Chinese as cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

"I've been waiting for weeks, Yao," Ivan dropped the good-natured exterior as his expression turned severe, his voice intensified, "What will your answer be?"

"How many times have I already told you? I don't want to become one with you. Not now, not ever," Wang Yao barked out his reply, "And don't you dare call me 'Yao.' You're no longer welcome to call me that or to this house."

"Why not?" Ivan narrowed his eyes – out of either dismay or frustration, it was difficult for Yao to tell, "You've accepted my aid in the past, but now you reject me. Is my offer not good enough?"

Wang Yao's concentration was failing him. He began to tremble as his pallid skin grew cold. His light pants transformed into wheezes, his head overcame by a throbbing ache that had been tormenting him day and night ever since his unusual craving had driven him to the edge.

"Stay away from Brother Yao," a soft voice threatened from behind the Russian, who felt a metal edge cut slightly into the flesh of his neck, "or I will truncate the rest of your head."

"Kiku?" Wang Yao muttered worriedly, as he pried open his eyes to find Kiku.

From the doorway, a young woman of long, platinum blond hair entered the room, wiping the blood drops off the blade of her dagger with a clean cloth. However, as soon as she found the Japanese holding his katana to Ivan's collar... "Brother Ivan!" She positioned her dagger and was prepared for a quick strike, but then Ivan raised his hand to arrest her advance.

"Don't mind me, Natalia," the Russian beamed cheerily at the girl, as he gashed a knife into the flank of Kiku's stomach.

"GAH!" a shriek of pain ensued.

When at last the Japanese had managed to lift his eyes to the Russian, Ivan was already a few feet away from the door, regarding the injured man condescendingly. The ash-blond shifted his head to Yao for one last look and then returned to Kiku, sending a wintry chill down Kiku's spine.

The foreboding grin on the Russian's face widened, as Ivan paused to exchange his final words of the day with the Japanese, "Since your brother isn't feeling well today, I'll return for another visit. Take care of him until then."

With that said, Braginsky brushed past him, and left soundlessly into the howling wind.

~END


	2. Chapter 1: A Visit for Arthur

Title: More Than Meets the Eye - Chapter 1 - A Visit for Arthur  
Author: me  
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Arthur/Kiku (UK/Japan), Ivan/Yao (Russia/China)  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Nothing, excpet for dangerous grammatical mistakes and vicious wordiness. There is no historical basis for any of the events.  
Summary: (AU) Something is clearly bothering Kiku Honda, so he seeks Arthur Kirkland, one of the few surviving acquaintances of Ivan Braginsky, for help...

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and I'm not really sure how this will unfold. Constructive criticisms and corrections would be nice (please!). Human names will be used. I'm sorry if this sounds really bad!

* * *

Arthur Kirkland sat on the lovely balcony of the inn, sipping the freshly brewed black tea as he enjoyed the wintry, snow-white landscape of the small garden below him. The day is new, and although the clouds of the cold season filled the sky, a sort of unconventional calmness permeated from the bracing offset. Arthur gazed at the panorama nostalgically, lifting the violet-festooned teacup from saucer for another sip. Lately, the British gentleman had been able to obtain some peace and quiet, since his contemptuous, arrogant roommate, Francis Bonnefoy, had been busy with his recently-opened bakery. The two men had very little time for quarrel. For Francis's case, work had pushed him to the point of exhaustion that he had lost the will to harass Arthur, and as for Arthur... Well, Arthur did whatever pleased him, which at the moment, was nothing better than to be at peace with a nice, hot cup of tea. Then again...

"Mr. Kirkland!" cried the shrill voice of that wretched landlady of his, whose stampeding footsteps amplified across the hallway, "MR. KIRKLAND! Where in God's name are you? Get down here at once!"

..._Blasted wench_, Arthur cursed quietly in exasperation, _Always intruding on my quiet time, just like that French bastard. I bet anything that it's about the rent..._

"Yes, Mrs. Bergenbon?" the British man answered in the most saccharine voice with a tinge of lividness, "Is there something the matter?"

"Of course there's something the matter," she snapped, her spectacles bouncing with the sharp gesture, "Why should I waste my breath on the likes of you if I've got nothing to say? You and your little friend owe me a month's worth of rent, and you still have the nerve to ask me stupid questions? Don't think I'm going to let you off easy this time. If I don't see that rent paid by the end of this week, I'll have you both straight out of my inn! No money, no room!"

As soon as Mrs. Bergenbon concluded her gentle warning, she slammed the paper door angrily as she left, leaving Arthur behind an earful of echoing shouts.

_I knew it_, he clenched his fists tightly, cracking his knuckles as he did so, _That wanker didn't... OH! Just wait till he gets home..._

BANG! The paper door suddenly tore open and there was Mrs. Bergenbon once more. She stomped onto the balcony, the rim of her oppressive lips twitching at the sight of the British, "And another thing..."

_Dear Lord, let her be gentle!_ Arthur gulped, anticipating another set of verbal attacks from the horrid woman.

"There's someone here to see you," she uttered in her casual, nasal tone, "It's a young man with short, dark hair."

Upon hearing the broad description, Arthur looked at her quizzically, "Did he leave a name by any chance?"

"Of course not!" Bergenbon's face distorted irately, "And if you want to know so badly, go see him yourself. He's in the guest room."

Arthur sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and headed downstairs, leaving his teacup on the plain, metal table. Although the landlady gave no satisfying answers, there was no point in delving for further answers. Besides, being too curious with Mrs. Bergenbon would only result in a fierce (hopeless) altercation.

The British man descended from the last wooden step, turned right down the narrow hallway, reached for the first doorknob that appeared before him, turned said metal doorknob, and walked into the lighted guest room. In the guest room was a damask divan leaning on the white walls to the left of the room, white-carpeted floors, a rectangular glass table a few steps away from the divan, and a vermillion armchair that matched the furniture opposite to it. Across from where Arthur stood were two paper doors that led to the pleasant garden at which the British gentleman had been gazing earlier. In the bland, white-walled guest room, the mysterious visitor was nowhere to be found.

Arthur scanned the room, first confidently, then nervously as he soon realized that his visitor was most likely not in the room. _Perhaps he left early_? Arthur wondered disappointedly, _Oh bugger. I was expecting there'd be a little more excitement than this. Or maybe..._ Slowly, the blonde British man approached the paper doors before him, carefully slid open one of them, and took a few steps into the wintery garden.

Outside, in the strolling garden, was a tortuous trail of footsteps that snaked across the snowy earth to a crimson-colored moon bridge. _What luck!_ Arthur observed the helpful clues excitedly as he faithfully followed the path. Although Arthur had often watched this view from above and walked through it on warmer days, the sight of the garden at wintertime seemed unfamiliar, even slightly puzzling as he wandered through the line of black pines and azaleas, all frozen in time for the season. He clambered his way across the moon bridge where below was the icy pond of lilypads, yet despite all this effort, the British still could not find his guest; however, Arthur persisted patiently, determined that the visitor would be found in no time. The investigation came to a halt when he finally arrived at the zigzag bridge that stood over the frozen pond. There at the end of the winding bridge stood the visitor of "short, dark hair."

Upon hearing the moderate pants from Arthur, as the British man stopped to warm his hands with his breath, the youth with fine, midnight-black hair turned to face the man behind him. His age was difficult to decipher from his complexion, but the young man had a soft look in his neutral brown eyes which intimated a sort of indifference in his nature. He was dressed in a chrysanthemum-patterned overcoat that was worn over his slate-colored kimono, and a knitted violet scarf covered his neck, nearly hiding the bottom half of his visage from the biting cold air. In his slender, pale hands, he carried an elaborate gift box that was embellished with white camellias and morning glories.

"I am Arthur Kirkland," Arthur initiated the conversation, suddenly breaking the ice with a greeting and an extension of his right hand towards the young visitor, "I heard from my landlady that you wanted to see me."

The stranger widened his eyes, as if Arthur's introduction had shaken him awake from a reverie, and took a slight bow without noticing the extended hand, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kirkland. I am Honda Kiku of the Wang household. Please pardon me for the unannounced visit. Have I kept you waiting?"

Arthur laughed good-naturedly at Kiku's polite response, "That's something I should ask you! But you had me worried when I didn't find you in the guest room."

Kiku blushed cherry red with embarrassment while a hand covered his mouth startlingly, as he staggered, "How scatterbrained of me! I apologize, but I couldn't help myself..."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Honda. I like to come down here myself and enjoy the scenery sometimes," sympathized the British gentleman, alleviating some of Kiku's embarrassment, "You rarely find such gardens in a bustling place..."

"Yes, I agree," responded the young man; his expression relaxed a bit as he remembered the ornamented box he was holding, "I've brought some snacks we could share while we talk; that is, if you're not busy, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur smiled at the offer and gestured invitingly with his hand towards the inn, "No, not at all. Why don't we head back to the guest room where it's warmer? I already have some black tea prepared this morning. How does that sound to you, Mr. Honda?"

Kiku nodded with a reserved smile, small strands of hair brushing past his delicate features as he did, "I should like to."

With Kiku's consent, they returned to the white guest room, the Japanese man seating himself on the divan once the British man welcomed him to do so. Arthur brought two of the same teacups he previously used with a teapot full of black tea to the guest room and filled each teacup at twelve o'clock.

"So then, Mr. Honda," Arthur continued as he seated himself on the armchair, "What I can do for you on this fine winter day?"

Honda silently sipped his tea, then responded with an earnest regard from his glinting, slate-brown eyes, "I've some questions about Ivan Braginsky."

"Mr. Honda, just simply out of curiosity, what business do you have with Ivan Braginsky?" Arthur lifted one of his legendarily thick eyebrows at the Japanese.

"That business is no concern of yours," Honda abruptly replied.

"I have no objections to that, Mr. Honda, but considering that you are requesting my assistance, I should like to know what sort of matter we're dealing with," Arthur regarded him composedly, "Or do you not trust me?"

Honda looked down at the rough carpeting, resignedly admitting, "I have no choice. There are very few who knew Braginsky and are still among the living, Mr. Kirkland.  
"'To put matters briefly, one needs to understand his enemy in order to ensure victory.'"

"And so, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?" Arthur followed with a charming, warm smile.

Kiku released a modest laugh, as he nodded, "Yes, and so it is."

END


	3. Chapter 2: The Family

**Title:**** More Than Meets the Eye - Chapter 2 – The Family's Melancholy****  
****Author:**** me****  
****Character(s) or Pairing(s):**** Arthur/Kiku (UK/Japan), Ivan/Yao (Russia/China), Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan****  
****Rating:**** PG-13****  
****Warnings:**** a teensy bit of violence and alcohol (?)****  
****Summary:**** There is conflict in the Wang household about the wellbeing of the Circle. The fate of the organization lies in Wang Yao's hands, but can Kiku save him?**

**A/N:**** IDK! _ I'm starting to feel some progress going on, and I'm definitely looking forward to write the next part.**

**Since HK and Taiwan haven't been named yet, I took the liberty of doing so. **

**HK = Hong (Yes, the most original name you'll ever hear from me!)**

**Taiwan = Mei (That's not even a name. It means "little sister" in Chinese.)**

The curtains had been drawn for the evening, and most of the Wang family gathered at the dinner table. Wang Yao had the least appetite, as nothing seemed to appeal to him, for even the lush greens and the bright reds of the dishes seemed bland, as his dark chestnut eyes lowered pensively…

_Wang Yao raised the glass of vodka toward the beige-blonde Russian, who was seated beside him, smiling sweetly at the Chinese._

"_Ivan Braginsky is a man of greatness," the man with dark hair declared drunkenly, "And I am grateful for his help."_

…

"_Hey! Braginsky," Wang Yao enthusiastically pointed a finger to the window, "It's snowing! I've never seen such weather before."_

_The Russian standing behind him widened his eyes, surprised by the sudden cheerful outburst from the Chinese but soon replied with a chuckle, "Really, Yao, you've never seen snow before? Back in my country, this sort of weather is a common sight, but it is beautiful." Ivan regarded the scene; his violet eyes glinted nostalgically, as he continues, "**The fields would be completely covered in white, and you'll feel as if you're in some distant world… where it's so cold that it hurts."_

_Yao looked at Ivan curiously, as he listened. A soft, solemn expression came over the Russian, as he reflected melancholically. Finding the will to break the tense silence, the dark-haired male rested a hand on the other man's shoulder, exclaiming brightly, "You should take me there sometime, Braginsky! That's a promise."_

_A loose strand of black hair fell before Wang's eyes, as he extended his little finger towards Ivan. The light blond beamed at the friendly gesture, and returned with a hook of his pinky, "Then a promise it is!"_

…

"Yao! Brother Yao!"

Wang Yao snapped out of his reverie and noticed Yong Soo calling out to him worriedly, "The food's going to get cold. Here, try some of these pickles that I made!"

"You mean that _**I**_ made!" Mei shouted across the table, rectifying him exasperatedly.

The curl of hair twitched as Yong Soo replied defensively, "I was the one who taught you how to make them, so don't get too cocky!"

"But it was Big Brother who taught you how to cook!" she shoved her index finger to his nose accusingly.

"Stop the noise this instant, aru!" Wang pounded on the table commandingly, but subsequently felt the room spin and fell out of the chair.

"Brother Yao!" all three little Wang's jumped out of their seats to check on their brother.

Hong pressed his left hand on Yao's forehead, and his right on his, "It's another fever, and it's worse than the last one. Yong Soo, help me get Brother to bed."

"Way ahead of you," Yong Soo answered, already picking up the bottom half of his big brother.

"I'll get the wet towel!" Mei rushed into the bathroom as her two older brothers were busy.

…

He slowly closed the door behind him and tiptoed into the kitchen so as not to disturb anyone. Unfortunately, Yong Soo entered to grab some pickles, opening the door just as Kiku was about to reach for the knob.

A look of anger swept across the Korean's face the moment he realized the Japanese's presence, "Well, look who's back? Where've you been in the last few hours?"

Kiku remained silent, waiting for Yong Soo to give up on this silly interrogation and at last, the older brother sighed, scratching his head as he said, "Whatever. It's clearly none of my business. Besides, you hardly ever concern yourself with family affairs, and least of all, Brother Yao's. What good are you?"

Kiku's eyebrows crossed at Yong Soo's caustic undertone, "What happened to Brother Yao? He didn't-"

Yong Soo scooted aside, leaving enough room for Kiku to pass, "Go see for yourself."

The younger brother rushed through door after door and found his way into Wang Yao's room, where Hong and Mei were tending him. The Japanese's ebony hair became disorientated from the run, and his dark eyes widened at the sight of the unconscious Chinese. Kiku's fists tightened, a bitterness welling up in his chest, as he watched Wang Yao struggling for breath. He hesitated for a minute before he finally willed the courage to approach Yao. Knees bending, the Japanese knelt before the sick man, locking Wang's hand between his delicate fingers.

"He was fine this morning," Kiku muttered disappointedly.

"But you know that the fever comes and goes," reminded Mei as she adeptly pealed an apple with a small knife in her hand, "We'll probably have to call the doctor again. Big Brother isn't getting any better."

"So he's weakening?" came a blunt reply from the former, "…He shouldn't be here. We need to take him back to the Circle."

"You're out of your mind!" Mei snapped at Kiku irately, "He can't go back! Isn't it clear that Brother doesn't have the strength to take matters into his hands anymore? We need to keep him safe here!"

"Then what about his beloved Circle?" the Japanese deepened his voice, as his head lowered, "It's falling apart as we speak, and no one else besides Brother Wang can command with such authority. Don't you see, Mei? He needs to return and fight against Braginsky!"

A sharp pain struck Kiku on the right cheek, knocking him and a nearby vase of peonies onto the floor. Honda lied on the floor with his dark, fine hair covering his countenance next to the shards of white vase, while Yong Soo rubbed his fist, eyes sharpening with animosity.

"Don't you dare utter that man's name in this house!" Yong Soo demanded loathingly, "I won't allow him to go back! You know very well as I do that Yao's just going to get himself killed. You think, even in this condition, that our brother can do anything?"

The Japanese propped himself up, nearly crushing the fallen red peonies beside him. He rubbed the swollen region of his cheek, as he stood up before the tallest man in the family. Kiku's burnt eyes smoked with rebellious passion, determinedly scoffing at Yong Soo with a reciprocated hostility.

Kiku stepped closer to the Korean, piercingly gazing into the latter's eyes, "Have you ever considered what Wang Yao wanted, rather than cage him here in his own despair?"

"So you're saying that I'm the villain here?" Yong Soo gestured at himself with disgust, "Note this, Honda, Yao is my brother, so I have every right to-"

"He isn't just your brother," Honda tersely broke off the speaker and, with that said, pushed past Yong Soo to leave.

He swiftly brushed past the empty bed of peonies, past the withered lilies, the pond, another door to the next garden, and finally reached the shrunken chrysanthemums, where behind the cluster of the white flowers was the paper door to his room. He leaped inside and slammed the wooden pane against the frame.

He leaned on the paper wall, gasping for air while holding back the tears from pensive melancholy. Yong Soo understood nothing about him at all. Deep in Honda's heart, he cared for his big brother as well, but who was there to confide such feelings? The situation grew dire by the moment, as Ivan Braginsky had already conceited to overthrow a defenseless Wang Yao.

Before he could lament further, Kiku rushed to his closet and fumbled through the heaps of clothing and whatnot. He threw open a sturdy green luggage onto the bed and ceaselessly piled all manners of apparel. _Even if there is no hope left_, pondered Kiku to his chagrin, shutting the case quietly, _I will fight for Brother Yao's sake!_

_**__Ivan's description is quoted from the painter in "Millennium Actress."_


	4. Chapter 3: Reunion Before the Convention

**Title:**** More Than Meets the Eye - Chapter 3 – Reunion Before the Convention****  
****Author:**** me****  
****Character(s) or Pairing(s):**** Arthur/Kiku (UK/Japan), Ivan/Yao (Russia/China)****  
****Rating:**** PG****  
****Warnings:**** imminent crossdressing****  
****Summary:**** The convention will start soon, and Kiku is on his way to find Arthur.**

**A/N:**** IDK! _ I'm starting to feel some progress going on, and I'm definitely looking forward to write the next part.**

**** Flashback edited. No big changes other than changing the writing style.**

**...**

In the subway station, the hectic current of people flood in all directions, pushing past one another without as much as a glance. There was always someplace to be and busybodies could hardly concern themselves with anything but their subsequent destination.

Contrastingly, Kiku had already departed from the eventful horde, already settled on a seat, his weathered luggage in the compartment above him. Resting his head on the window, he sighed, relaxing amidst the comfortably mundane setting. Everyone had somewhere to be, though most would be returning home or wherever for a day's rest. Of course, the case would be different for Honda, who shut his eyes and reassessed his previous conversation with Arthur Kirkland.

…

_In the bland, white guest room, two gentlemen conversed as they consumed the freshly brewed black tea in each of their decorated teacups. The snow laid thick outside in the garden, while the interior of the hotel was peacefully still._

_Arthur took a sip from his cup, then continued, "I've never met Braginsky in person, so there isn't much I can tell you. However, with my current knowledge, I'm well aware that he's desperate to seek a warm-water port."_

_Kiku fidgeted as he bit his lip, muttering, "...So there could have been a conspiracy, __after all..."_

_The British overheard Kiku's babbling and replied with a chuckle, "When doesn't Braginsky conspire?"_

_"If that's what he seeks, then I won't allow it. Mr. Kirkland, something must be done to put an end to Braginsky's plan," the Japanese declared resolutely._

_A devious grin emerged across Arthur's face, "Then how about you come to a dance with me?"_

_"Excuse me?" Kiku shuddered, blushingly flustered._

_Again, the British nonchalantly sipped out of the ornate teacup, "There will be convention hosted by Braginsky's boss tomorrow at the Grand Bastion, and I plan to attend. It'd be a total bore to have such a grand occasion all to myself, wouldn't you say, Mr. Honda?"_

_Kiku hesitated for moment; it was an offer too good to be true. Then again, he could not help himself but ask, "But why should I come?"_

_The blond regarded confidently at the latter, "Well, weren't you the one who said Braginsky had to be stopped at all cost? This would be a great opportunity to meet him in person, wouldn't you say? After all, since Braginsky's boss will also be there, our Russian friend will have very few places to go. – And that makes finding him easier for us. But before I get ahead of myself, would you accept my invitation, Mr. Honda?"_

_"I accept your invitation with gratitude," was Kiku's prompt reply._

_Arthur shied away but firmly announced, "Of course, anything for my own benefit!"_

_'What could he hope to gain with my company? I don't understand this man at all,' Kiku pondered as he confusedly observed the British._

_"Anyway, if you still wish to come, meet me here, in this room, again exactly at five in the afternoon," Arthur coughed to regain composure._

_"Until then, Mr. Kirkland," Kiku lifted himself from the couch, nodded politely, and left the room._

…

BONK! His head struck the metal frame of the window as soon as the subway came to a halt. Squirming in pain, Kiku rubbed the slightly bruised part of his head and fixed one of his brow eyes at the screen of writing above the opened door.

"We have now arrived at Regal Station," announced a feminine voice from the speaker.

Without further delay, the Japanese removed his belongings from the compartment and rushed past the double doors, which promptly closed behind him. He pushed against the chaotic current and managed to reach to the escalators, where he caught his breath. Panting in short intervals, he checked the leather-strapped watch on his left wrist; four minutes left.

The stillness in the room sent a chill down Arthur's spine, as he regarded the empty couch across from the red divan. Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, he thought about his dark-haired guest from the previous day. Despite the emptiness of the seat, the colors he left behind still remained vivid in Arthur's mind: The white chrysanthemums of his haori; the frozen slate color of his robe; his pale, snow-white skin; his doll-like complexion; the sharp eyes with irises of dark honey…

"Pardon me, if I've kept you waiting," the Japanese uttered between the huffs and puffs before the Englishman.

Shaken by his sudden entrance, Arthur paused for a moment. _When in heck did he get here?_ was the first though that came to the gentleman as his emerald green eyes drew to Kiku's dark ones.

"No, not at all. I was simply thinking," Arthur laughed, attempting to shake off the awkward moment, checking his watch as he continued to laugh, "In fact, you're right on time."

"Now that you're here," the British continued, taking Kiku's bag and hid it in a nearby cabinet, "We should be heading out. The convention will be starting in about ninety minutes."

…

The bus arrived at an intricate building bejeweled by the brilliant lights, an assortment of candy colors that would have drawn a hungry child to its gates were it not for the latter's ominous, black steel bars and the guards that stood at each end. Arthur and Kiku departed from the vehicle.

As soon as Kiku laid eyes on the fancy structure before him, he subsequently glanced down at his own wardrobe, blushing as if he were naked, "Mr. Kirkland… Are we even dressed appropriately for such a lavish event?"

"No, not at all!" Arthur replied casually, "But we will be."

Kiku regarded him curiously, slight premonition creeping up his back, "'We will be'? So Braginsky has also invited me to the convention?"

"'Yes' to the former, and 'no' to the latter," Arthur scratched his back, his voice wavering a bit.

"But…" the Japanese stammered.

The British lightly patted the smaller man's shoulder, and reassured him with a mesmerizing smile, "Don't worry, I'll take care of this."

With that said, Arthur tugged Kiku by the wrist, away from the entrance. The sudden change of course baffled the Japanese, who became more unsettled the farther they steered. Despite Honda's hesitations, Arthur made no response and pressed forward, making a turn, taking him and Kiku farther away from the guards. As soon they came to a quieter, darker corner, Arthur kneeled down and began knocking on the brick wall. There was no answer from the first knock, so the gentleman tried again. A light creaking sound followed from the other side, but Kiku could not discern the source of the sound among the thick bushes.

FOOM! A trapdoor flashed open before the two men, and swiftly, Arthur descended, dragging Kiku with him, and subsequently locked the door behind them.

"Mr. Kirkland? What are you-" Kiku attempted to raise his question, but was shortly interrupted by the blond.

"I'm getting the both of us inside," Arthur answered good-naturedly, "unless if you prefer to talk your way through the guards."

The Japanese remained silent, but his expression shifted from stoic calmness to slight suspicion, to which the British paid no attention. Arthur navigated through the narrow passageway instinctively, hardly minding the scarce lighting, guiding Kiku by the hand. On the other hand, Kiku, who had difficulty maneuvering through the darkness, tightly clenched onto Arthur's hand, maintaining a close distance between him and the European, while his other hand felt the stony texture of the walls. He had no choice but to temporarily trust the blond, though he was frustrated that Arthur had hardly eased his anxieties.

At last, there was light in the distance, and Kiku loosened his grip on Arthur's gloved hands, but his was still entangled between the gentleman's slender fingers. For that, Kiku blushed a bit, as he realized the tender yet firm touch of the British. The two of them ascended the stairs, stepping into an elaborate hallway lit by a chandelier. Simultaneously, Arthur released his grip on Kiku.

A slight disappointment overcame Kiku as he felt the warmth of the other man slip from his hands but then recalled his earlier doubts and opened his mouth for another try. However, as soon as Kiku forced out a whimper, Arthur put a hand over his mouth; the sound of steps from another corner could be heard, and before Kiku could budge, the blond pushed him into a room and speedily closed the door. Indistinguishable exchange of words between two guards could be heard, as they strolled past the room. Without further ado, Arthur advanced further into the room, prolifically rummaging through the racks of clothing, and disappeared.

Honda, who had just seen the madman storm off, felt the urge to follow Arthur, unwilling to be left behind. He entered the forest of clothes. Despite the uniformity of arrangement, the number of clothing was imposingly impressive, and Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Out of the blue, a red cloth followed by other trinkets came flying at Kiku, who adeptly caught each item with grace. The Japanese scrutinized the fabric and various decorative objects, realizing that it was an elegant, thinly-strapped red dress; beneath it, a scarlet bolero embellished with gold on the rims; and, last but not least, accessories for the hair and clothing, to each a giant, red-orange peony is attached. Kiku examined and re-examined each item in disbelief, and looked up to search for Arthur, who emerged from the left stack of clothing, clad in a black, Victorian overcoat which covered the bright red vest; pants and shoes of equivalent jet-black color; and a top hat. The Japanese held his breath before the transformed figure but quickly seized control of himself and lifted the items in his hands disdainfully.

"Mr. Kirkland, I'm afraid these are female attire," Kiku voiced incredulously.

"Of course they are," the British smiled determinedly, which was more radiant than ever in contrast to his black attire.

Kiku averted his eyes from Arthur, unwilling to submit to such charms, "I'm not a woman. Isn't there another outfit like yours in this heap?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Honda," the blond teasingly admonished his Asian companion, as he adjusted his top hat, "If we're going to prowl around this bastion, we might as well blend in with the rest of the guests."

"Mr. Kirkland, it is your plan that's ridiculous-" Kiku refuted but was cut short as Arthur gently clasped the former's chin between his lithe, gloved fingers.

"Milady, there's no need for formalities here," the former coaxed softly with a rich, resonating voice in Kiku's ear, "'Arthur' is fine."


	5. Chapter 4: Deadly Symphony, Part I

**Title: More Than Meets the Eye - Chapter 4 – Deadly Symphony (Part I)**

**Author: me**

**Character(s) or Pairing(s): Arthur/Kiku, Ivan/Yao, Belarus**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warnings: crossdressing, some compromising situations, violence, derogatory terms**

**Summary: Stuck in lady clothes, Kiku has to put up with the opening ceremonies before he can find the Russian. However, Braginsky will be the least of his concern...**

**A/N: This chapter took forever. -_- So far, not a lot of Russia/China going on, so I'll be getting to that in the next chapter.**

**Since I want to update more often, I'm going to post shorter chapters - say every 2 or 3 days?**

Kiku tottered abashedly from one pillar to the next, struggling to keep up with the taller man. Unfortunately, for the past five minutes, he had been confronting his own battles with a pair of uncooperative high-heeled shoes and the utterly emasculating get-up, all of which rendered him exhausted by the moment. He tottered and swayed, and then stumbled onto a pillar, secretly cursing his earlier consent to this cruel torture. The Japanese attempted to prop himself up, but fell back to the marble floors, his feet sore and the peony hairclip barely keeping his hair in place.

Arthur snorted and approached the dark-haired youth to lend him a hand, "Tired, already?"

The latter gently pushed the hand away, and buttressed himself with the edge of the column, "At any rate, you're responsible for this."

"So I am," Arthur admitted casually, but his thick eyebrows immediately tensed, as he gripped Kiku by the wrists.

Kiku felt his back pushed against the cold surface of the pillar, his wrists bound by the leather that enveloped Arthur's hands. It was not until he sensed a heavy breath graze his ear did he realize that the British was practically all over him. The Japanese flushed madly at the unseemly distance, twisting his way out of this obscene prison, resisting with violent kicks, all of which were futile, "Let go of me. What in the world are you doing?"

Arthur whispered playfully, "The guards are coming. Just play along."

"Have you gone mad?" Kiku recoiled in disgust, resisting Arthur's grip with all his might.

"Look at me, Kiku," Arthur deepened his voice solemnly.

Their eyes met, but shortly after, Kiku averted the gaze with a shudder, his face reddened with embarrassment, but Arthur went on, stammering a bit, "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm doing this to save myself."

_How blunt you are,_ Kiku protested inwardly, but muttered aloofly, "Do as you wish."

Arthur advanced forward, brushing his lips against Kiku's soft, delicate ones, while one of his gloved hands fiddled with a small strand of ebony hair. Gently, with his other hand, he pressed the smaller body to his, while the Japanese obliged himself to press his mouth against Arthur's. Their tongues met, engaged a tango of their own, as their bodies began to steam with light perspiration. Arthur wrapped his arm around Kiku's waist, while the other stroked his ear, which sent a tingling sensation throughout the smaller man's body.

"Who's there?" a voice called out behind Arthur, as footsteps quickened their paces.

His heart racing restlessly, Kiku embraced the blond by the neck, his hands fondling the locks of soft, golden hair affectionately. As the guards soon noticed the "intimate" exchange, they turned their heads away, hastily marching off elsewhere.

Once the sound of their footsteps grew faint, the two men released each other, their lips parted. Arthur adjusted his neck ruffle, while the discombobulated Japanese held a hand to his mouth. With a sigh, the British fixed the loosely dangling hairclip, meticulously clamping a small strand of dark hair.

"We'll be entering the great hall soon," the blond segued into more important matters as he straightened Kiku's collar, "As soon as the opening ceremonies is over, Braginsky will return to his room. That's our chance to speak with him…"

He paused. A glint of uncertainty shone from Kiku's eyes masked beneath his exterior indifference and Arthur felt a slight chill, but resumed, "We'll wait and enjoy ourselves for the time being."

"Milady?" Arthur extends an arm for his "lady" companion, smiling with a mischievous, but warm regard.

The other accepted the offer without another word, and the two of them ambled out of the passage, into the main hall.

**(To be continued...)**


	6. Chapter 4: Deadly Symphony, Part II

**Title: More Than Meets the Eye - Chapter 4 – Deadly Symphony (Part II)**

**Author: MESHQUBE**

**Character(s) or Pairing(s): Arthur/Kiku, Ivan/Yao, Belarus**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warnings: crossdressing, some compromising situations, violence, derogatory terms**

**Summary: Stuck in lady clothes, Kiku has to put up with the opening ceremonies before he can find the Russian. However, Braginsky will be the least of his concern...**

**A/N: First, I'd like to thank all the reviewers for your support! I'm really happy that you enjoyed this fanfic. *gets bitch-slapped for not doing this earlier***

**Since I couldn't help myself, I drew Kiku in the outfit from Part I. (Check my profile for the link.) Which do you guys prefer: (1) or (2)?**

The couple was greeted by two impressive rows of chandeliers divided by a central walkway. Beyond each chandelier were columns of white carrara marbles that buttressed the gilded furnishings which courses to the white ceiling. At the center of the ceiling was an emblem of the crowned double-headed eagles, where below was an orchestra executing a harmonious sinfonia. Kiku scanned the room carefully with his watchful eyes, as he released his hands from Arthur.

"There's some business I need to take care of," the blond whispered to the Japanese, holding him close in a false embrace, "I'll catch up with you later. Stay in the room."

Kiku brusquely grabbed the hem of Arthur's black jacket and spoke softly, "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry," the British assured him endearingly, lightly pecking on the pale soft cheeks before he left, "I just need to make a phone call. It won't be long."

As Arthur took off, Kiku attempted to pursue him but abruptly stumbled when his foot slid out of one of the red high-heels. He caught himself, grabbing onto a tablecloth that hung beside him. Already, twenty minutes had passed since he had been in this humiliating disguise, and his heels had received plenty of torture – along with his self-esteem – during the period. With nothing better to do, Kiku sighed, picked up the fallen shoe, and receded to an alcove beside the orchestra.

Despite his faint movements, he did not go unnoticed. The orchestra arrived at the final measure of the sinfonia, which was concluded by the subdued reverberation of the violoncello. The platinum-blond cellist raised her head, opening her dusk violet-blue eyes as the sound of the cello died away. Her sharp eyes, hidden behind the long, fine strands of hair, caught sight of the flowing midnight hair of Kiku Honda. Her attention, undisturbed by the roaring applause from the audience, remained fixed on her prey like a hawk to a fish. Before the rest of the orchestra began to play the next piece, the cellist rose from her seat and approached the niche in dead silence. She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing the white stocking that envelop her thighs, and quietly entered into the darkness.

Kiku sat on the chilly, marble floor. Both of his high heels he slipped off and set aside, while he rested his eyes. A cold timbre of metal echoed in close proximity, and Kiku opened his eyes, his pupils dilating as he recognized the familiar, ominous clink of stainless steel.

WHAM! The blade of the dagger jammed into the thick marble, where the Japanese rested earlier. Kiku, who already rolled aside, caught the arm of his assailant, struggling to tear the knife away from her. The cellist rammed Honda onto the floor with her free arm. He fought to wriggle away from her but his efforts had been choked by the garotting of her snow-white hand.

She clawed into his flesh with her fingernails, her gaze gleaming icily, "Your presence is insulting. Do you honestly think that I'd be fooled by this get-up?"

Kiku's hands wrestled hers to loosen her grip on his neck, but her grasp tightened stubbornly, though not enough to strangle the Japanese to death. He gasped for air and exerted as much strength as he could muster to throw the attacker off; however, his legs were locked between hers.

She drilled the butt of the dagger onto the left, lower portion of his abdomen, forcing out a hoarse shriek of pain from Honda.

"So," she darkly whispered, the cold, wintry eyes narrowing as she observed the reaction, "this must be the souvenir Brother Ivan left you from last time. Perhaps I should give you another one so you won't ever come back…"

Kiku struck the side of her head with the sheathed blade of his wakizashi he hid under his sleeves earlier, and she fell, colliding with the walls. The young man pulled himself together, swiftly unsheathed the wakizashi, and was about to slide the knife to her neck, but she swiped her dagger once she seized control of her movements. Kiku flinched in a defensive stance, though one of his cheeks was already bleeding from the previous assault.

"What a nuisance," the woman resumed detachedly, as she shook her head disappointedly, "If it weren't for Brother Ivan's orders, I would've killed you by now. Honestly, I don't know what he sees in that Chinaman…"

"What?" Kiku's eyes widened, upon hearing the latter statement.

"But enough talk," she remarked aloofly, pointing her dagger at him, "I'll take you to him-"

The cellist instantly spun around, blocking an incoming blade with her own weapon. She dodged the intruder's succeeding blow and lashed out her leg to trip her opponent, but the attacker had already shifted elsewhere. An acute pain suddenly split across her back, and the cellist fell, prostrate in reluctant submission.

Kiku scrutinized his rescuer, who placed a hand his shoulder, _Arthur?_

"I should've come sooner," murmured a familiar, velvety voice, "You alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Kiku whispered breathlessly.

The young woman on the floor endeavored to bolster herself erect with the strength of her hands, but dropped back onto the hard surface, quivering from her injury, as she forced out an ironic laugh, "Do you even know why that redcoat is helping you? Or rather, do you know anything at all?"

"Let's get the hell out of here before they ambush us," Arthur demanded as he nudged the Japanese, who but only regarded Arthur questioningly. The British impatiently swept off the other young man off his feet, and hastily ran past the injured cellist. Kiku did not bother to resist, and kept silent as Arthur fled from the palace.

Once the two of them had returned to the dark, stony hallway, Arthur gently set Kiku onto the ground.

"Arthur?" Kiku uttered tensely the new term.

"Yes, Kiku?" Arthur responded.

Kiku felt the wound with his hand. The region of his abdomen was warm, sodden, and a stinging pain shot up his skin. He lifted his hand and there the red stain revealed against his fair white skin.

[END]


	7. Chapter 5: Withered Peony, Part I

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 5 – Withered Peony on a Sober Night (Part I)

Author: (Yours truly)

Characters/Pairings: UK/Japan, Russia/China

Ratings: PG-13

Warnings: drugs, violence, touching o3o

Summary: A look into Wang Yao's mind…

A/N: I've kept my promise for more Russia/China stuff! I will not be defeated by writer's block! *gets maimed by snarly writer's blocks* T^T By the way, anybody know the flower language of the peony?

I may have to delay Part II since I'm struggling with Chapter 6 right now.

…

_There was a time when no one would dare to question Wang Yao's authority. He once possessed the aura of a dynastic emperor – golden, divine, mighty, and proud. He governed the Circle with cunning and practicality, operating the organization like an extension of his own body. The organization itself consists of several clans, all who then would bow down to their majestic lord. Yes, that was Wang Yao, who had owned every port city on the mainland. Even at the whisper of his name, one would shudder with fear and respect. He had been a walking legend._

_Alas! The "majestic light" had faded as beauty would from a young woman overtime. Autumn quickly transitioned to winter and the freezing snowstorms ensnared his gardens in a purgatory of frozen time. The seasons have changed… Progress stagnated, factions were formed, and things fell apart. The Circle had entered the dark ages and its leader had nearly come to a cul-de-sac, after five generations of the Wang's legacy._

_It was then that Ivan Braginsky had willingly extended a helping hand. Wang Yao could not refuse the offer. Times grew desperate, and he had to come to terms with his waning reputation at some point. To his surprise however, Ivan was incredibly sympathetic and, in fact, understood perfectly of the Circle's situation. When Ivan had related to Yao the harshness the Union had to overcome, the Chinese had an epiphany. That sudden act of sympathy, that extended hand of friendship, had made him realize that he was not alone. He had found an ally – a friend – in this icy winter world. A friendship with Ivan was a silver lining in the clouds but also a burden on his pride._

_Practically and emotionally, he could not do without Ivan, and Wang Yao felt a growing darkness in his heart. Through the course of their friendship, not once did Ivan refuse to support him morally and financially. For that, Wang Yao was not only grateful to the Russian but also drawn to him like a sunflower to the sun. Perhaps the sun was too overwhelming or the flower too frail, but regardless of the metaphorical circumstances, Wang Yao could not quite pull himself together._

_Unable to stand on his own, he knew... he was no longer the "majestic light." Even more to his dismay was the chaos within the Circle, as a struggle for power broke out among the various clans and factions. He was left behind. Wang Yao had become a relic of the past, and that broke his heart._

_Despite Ivan Braginsky's generosity, Wang Yao had been unable to regain his strength. He became discouraged, but he never stopped to put on a smile before the Russian. He was ashamed and utterly disgusted by his dependence. Reality seemed to be beating down on him, and Wang Yao wanted to find an outlet for his frustration… Should he consult Ivan?_

…_No… Ivan had already done so much for him. Should he demand more from the Russian… Maybe he will lose faith in him too. In the end, he would be alone again…_

_His heart grew heavier each day, and nothing Wang Yao did had allowed the Circle to recover. Business was bad. His efforts seemed futile. All the glory of his ancestors had been blown away by the sly northern winds. Wang Yao had begun to despair._

_Like a drowning cat thrashing about in the water for air, he grabbed for anything to keep his sanity, but all means had failed him. His anxiety grew, but he made sure to keep this from the family, though the task became more difficult with the prolonged complications. The keener of his siblings, such as Kiku and Hong, had soon noticed the troubled expression on Yao's proud features, but Yao kept silent. He had never wished to involve the family in the Circle's affairs, and he certainly had no intentions of raising the subject at the moment._

_Months after months inched by, until the week of Christmas, when Wang Yao met a certain foreigner, who claimed to be a businessman from the far West… He willingly made promises to pull Wang Yao out of his economic-political slump, and even introduced a cure to his depression, in exchange for a few crates of tea. What bargain it was! The cure had worked. All his problems subsided, and the Chinese, for once in the longest time, had felt relieved, even euphoric. He could lift his head to face his family, and at last, look at Ivan Braginsky in the eyes. His regained confidence strengthened him, and everything seemed right as rain… But all good things must end. _

(To be continued…)


	8. Chapter 5: Withered Peony, Part II

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 5 – Withered Peony on a Sober Night (Part II)

Author: Udon Penguin

Characters/Pairings: UK/Japan, Russia/China

Ratings: PG-13

Warnings: drugs, violence, touching o3o

Summary: A look into Wang Yao's mind…

A/N: Thank you again, everyone, for the reviews/comments/critiques. Now, I present you with the latter half of the chapter.

**_Siheyuan_ is a type of traditional Chinese residence that consists of a courtyard surrounded by four buildings

…

_Turmoil in the Circle grew, as the members turned on him. Attempted assassinations on Yao became more frequent. Wang Yao felt his health on the decline, and he gradually lost track of the matters at hand. Progress slumped, and trade agreements became more demanding than ever – and the Chinese had to comply with the demands. He needed to get better; he needed the cure, more than anything else in his life. There were nights when he could not sleep, mornings when he could not focus, and agonizing afternoons filled with horror from hallucinations. He craved compulsively for it, while he was losing his appetite for the food at the table. The family began to fear for his death, and Yong Soo and the rest of the siblings moved him to the Siheyuan** in the countryside. More often than ever, Wang Yao remained in his bed, his body heavy from exhaustion. He hardly persisted in the affairs of the Circle and had no energy to keep the family together. His hunger to be cured became even more difficult to satisfy. Only progress of his emptiness continued._

_Then, the worst began…_

…

"_You don't look too good, Yao," Braginsky regarded Wang Yao with concern, "How have you been?"_

_It was in the late afternoon, Yao came to visit the Russian, who invited the bed-ridden man to his house. There had been some time since the Chinese had left the sickbed, but the friendly company comforted him greatly. Though Wang Yao could have given an excuse to stay home, he really had to see Ivan again, though he could not pinpoint an exact reason. Maybe it would do him good for a change of scenery._

"_There have been some ups and downs, aru," he answered listlessly in a dry voice, "but everything is fine."_

"_Really?" Ivan arched a brow in disbelief, as he detected the dark rings under Wang Yao's dark eyes and the unhealthy pallor, "You look as if you've lost weight."_

"_I've been busy, that's all," the Chinese smiled awkwardly, "Nevermind me! How are things with you? You said you needed to talk with me?"_

"_Good as always…" the Russian returned a pleasant smile, and then there was a long pause._

"_Ivan?" Yao leaned a little closer to his friend, placing a hand on a broad shoulder worriedly._

"_Yao," Ivan took the slender, porcelain hand, his countenance solemn and dark, a reaction that took Wang Yao by surprise, "I want you to become one with me. Let the Circle join the Union."_

"_What?" the Chinese withdrew his hand, as if bitten by a venomous snake, "Are you insane?"_

"_You know as well as I do that your Circle is falling apart," Ivan replied; it was his turn to approach his friend, "You've run out of options, so why not join with me? Don't you want to keep your family's honor? I'm sure you wouldn't want to burden any of them…"_

_SLAP! Wang Yao was fueled with anger by the Russian's words, for every one of them pricked his nerve, "Who are you to meddle with my affairs? You think I would give up everything I've worked for to join you? Don't make me laugh. I won't have the Circle be a part of anything, even if it means the end of –"_

_He felt the warmth of skin pressed forcefully against his lips, and every hair on his back stood up, petrified. Ivan caressed Wang Yao's tongue, exploring the very recess of his mouth ardently, but then pulled out and trapped the fair, desolately delicate visage between his hands, "You are so proud, Wang Yao – But I will not be refused and my word is final."_

_The once calm lavender, night sky of the Russian's eyes had transformed into a frenzied violet hue of storm clouds, and the Chinese felt as if his entire being was engulfed in the ruthless arctic, cold waters, confined underneath the thick sheets of ice. Though Wang Yao did not shiver in fear, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach, as he mentally screamed at every touch of the Russian._

_He shoved Ivan aside with a thrust of his strength, turned, and fled. Even as he left the building, the Chinese kept turning back, afraid that Ivan might stalk him home. The horror that the Russian might come after him heightened his senses, and he could feel the perspiration in his tar-black hair, greasy and disgusting as it was, the racing tempo of his heartbeat, his cold sweat that covered him entirely, and the anguish that pulverized madly in his mind, grinding and tearing through his sanity –_

...

"ARU!" Wang Yao pried open his eyes and found himself on floor beside his bed. His heart rocked violently, pounding against his chest, and he frantically struggled for air. His hands shook, his throat burned, and his body encumbered by the ache in his limbs. He was dizzy in the head and insecure in the lonely darkness of the night. For once he felt sober. Vivid scenes from his dream flashed in his mind, and he wanted to get rid of them.

He clambered onto his feet with the support of his bed post and teetered his way to the workroom. There were nights when he dreamed of the same dream, and the memories haunted him incessantly. After that day, he shut himself in the house, growing sicker and weaker, with nothing going in his favor. To his dread, not long after he fled from the Russian's house, Ivan had discovered and visited – or rather, forced himself into – his house. It was a humiliating affront. He could not retaliate or even resist. Being helpless had been torturous for Wang Yao, and he was fraught to ease that sense of anxiety with anything.

He arrived at a bookcase in the workroom, and shelf by shelf, he browsed through the books. In the second row, he removed a little a blue book and opened the cover. Inside, large portions of the pages had been carved out, which made sufficient room to store a miniature container of tinted glass, the vessel's mouth stuffed with a cork. He gazed at the bottle pensively, his brows furrowed as his stare deepened.

Something in him snapped and he chucked the bottle across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, fragments colliding to the floor, breaking into smaller pieces, sending the pills tumbling down the wall. Wang Yao scorned at the sight but then hastened to the pile of broken glass and scattered substance. He picked up each fragment piece by piece. His long hair draping over him, his downcast eyes set on a single chip under the moonlight.

"Ivan…"

~END


	9. Chapter 6: LowKey Fascination, Part I

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 6 – Low-Key Fascination (Part I)

Author: Udon Penguin

Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/Japan, Russia/China, with cameo appearance of France and Spain

Rating: PG-13

Warning: a teensy bit of gore (I don't think it even qualifies as gore…), alcohol, sensuality, poopie mouth, blah blah

Summary: Kiku patches up his wound at Arthur's flat…

A/N: Take a breather, everyone. I've cranked through this chapter, and now I have to crank through chapter 7.

…

"I'll be fine. Just let me be," Kiku called out.

"Are you sure you don't need a doctor?" Arthur repeated the question once more from the other side of the door.

"I'm fine," he muttered, wincing as he sterilized the wound with rubbing alcohol, "Don't worry about me."

The Japanese sighed as he rested his hands against the sink, the faucet running with hot water. On the side of the sink were scissors, a box of matches, a needle, fishing line, bandages, and a bottle of wine. Kiku had already undressed, his clothes piled up on the lid of the toilet. The wound was opened and he had been bleeding for the past half hour. Blood loss had taken its effect, as it was becoming difficult to concentrate. He must hurry.

After stringing the fishing line to the sterilized needle, Kiku glanced down at the open wound one last time. He took a deep breath. Then, furrowing his brows, clenching his teeth, he dug the needle into his flesh without any second thoughts. For the next few quiet, excruciating seconds, the Japanese adeptly stitched up the gash. Pain coursed through his abdomen, from the stinging prick of the needle to the sore, sharp sensation of the closing wound. He held his breath as beads of cold sweat emerged from his forehead, until, at last, the process was completed. He released a sigh and examined his work. The stitches were crude and would have been better if surgical thread was available – or even better if a doctor had patched up his wound, but he could not risk having any of Braginsky's men stalk him. Besides, he had enough unpleasant surprises for the day.

Once the wound had been bandaged, Kiku uncorked the bottle, taking huge gulps. Alcohol had been his last resort to ease the pain, but then again, he had no other choices. The idea was just as sound as asking help from Arthur, with whom he was hardly acquainted. The man had too many secrets kept from him and Kiku was starting to wonder whether trusting the British had been a mistake. He shook his head, setting the empty wine bottle down as his freed his mind into a whirl of distorted thoughts. Slowly, the Japanese slipped on a light blue kimono. The soft touch of the robe tickled his warm flesh, just like the gentle brushes of Arthur's hands… the way his lips swept across his… He shuddered. Recollections of the recent intimacies sprang to mind.

He gazed into the mirror, wiping off the blood stain from the cut on his cheek. His heart was heavy with grief and guilt. While he was away, did Wang Yao still suffer? While he was stuck in a bathroom, under the roof of a man-whom-he-could-hardly-call-a-friend, already having perverted fantasies, was Wang Yao still writhing in pain and begging to wake up from his nightmare? He cursed himself, but the sensation of desire had not left him in peace, which angered Kiku even more. He could not help but remember that shameless display with Arthur. Over and over, he fancied whether any of the caresses and embraces were done out of sheer honesty. Not at all, he concluded, to his dismay. _Not at all…_

(…To be continued…)


	10. Chapter 6: LowKey Fascination, Part II

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 6 – Low-Key Fascination (Part II)

Author: Udon Penguin

Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/Japan, Russia/China, with cameo appearance of France and Spain

Rating: PG-13

Warning: a teensy bit of gore (I don't think it even qualifies as gore…), alcohol, sensuality, poopie mouth, blah blah

Summary: Kiku patches up his wound at Arthur's flat…

A/N: I just hope my French makes sense. This is still a breather. So sorry for the lack of climax.

A few French translations, since Francis just loves to hear himself talk… (Please excuse my French.)

_Comment = In context, it means "what," though the direct translation is "how."_

_N'inquiète pas, mon ami = "Don't worry, my friend."_

_Alors = "so" or "then"_

_D'accord = "okay?"_

_C'est impossible = "That's impossible."_

_Dis donc, connard = "Hey, asshole ((or something as bad as or worse than that))!"_

…

Arthur slumped on the chair, hardly touching the teacup before him. The tea had already gone cold, but he could care less. His eyes wandered as he fiddled with the red roses on the table. It was roughly a quarter till ten. The last time he checked on the Japanese was about half an hour ago, and he had been waiting until now. _I wonder if he's alright._ He could not be sure, and the uncertainty had irked him. Though Kiku's wellbeing should hardly be of his concern... _Was he injured badly?_ He bit his lip.

Half an hour had been long enough. Arthur leapt out of the chair and dashed to the bathroom door. He knocked once. There was no answer. He knocked twice. There was still no answer. _Cor Blimey! Could he be - ?_

Just when Arthur was about to crank open the doorknob, the door swung open and Kiku wobbled out of the bathroom and fell into his arms. The Japanese groaned, his head leaning against the blonde's chest. The periwinkle kimono slid off, exposing an inviting, white shoulder – apparently, the sash was loosely tied and the wearer had a scent of alcohol about him. Arthur gulped, as he veered his keen, emerald eyes to the tempting flesh uncovered before him. He stared for some time until his sense of reason had brought him back to the present (awkward) circumstances. As much as his rational side urged to cover up Kiku's shoulder, another side of him craved to watch on, even daring him to advance a little further. He shook his head and adjusted the kimono without as so much as a glance: reason won.

"Arthur..." Kiku whispered to Arthur's ear, words slurring. The voice resonating like the tinkling of glass in the blonde's ear, as graceful porcelain hands draped over Arthur's firm shoulders.

"You're drunk," Arthur finally urged out a few words, though he was still locked in place. Gradually losing consciousness, the dark-haired youth drooped over, but Arthur caught him before Kiku was dragged down by his weight and exhaustion.

"_Comment_?_!_" a hoarse cough rang from the background.

_That voice..._ The British felt a blood vessel twitch as displeasure spread across his usual charming features.

"And I was wondering when you would ever get laid," the voice continued, snickering.

Arthur swung his head in the direction of where Francis stood, his lush green eyes intensified with forest-fire anger. "Why, good evening, Francis. You're just as annoying as usual," the British greeted the French sardonically, "Did you pay the money for our rent, or have you forgotten again?"

"_N'inquiète pas, mon ami_. It's all taken care of," Francis smirked, gesturing with a shake of his hand, "_Alors_, I'll leave you two alone, since you're apparently busy. I have Antonio and Gilbert over, so don't get too loud, _d'accord_?"

"You don't have to worry. Unlike you, I don't shag everything that moves," Arthur coolly returned a smirk at Francis, who had his back turned away, almost about to head out to the kitchen.

The French flicked his strawberry blond hair and amiably faced his callous roommate, "Ah, is that how you see me? I'm hurt - "

"Good to hear that you are," Arthur strutted past him arrogantly, carrying a drowsy Kiku into his room, "Now if you'll excuse us, we're a little busy."

"Hey, Francis," Antonio popped his head out from the dining room, "I can't find it."

Francis arched a fine eyebrow, befuddled, as he followed his brunette friend to the kitchen, "Comment? _C'est impossible_. It was in the fridge all week..."

"_Dis donc, connard_! What have you done to my Château Margaux?" the French indignantly shouted at the gentleman.

"Why don't you check the loo and find out?" a moment of triumph gleamed in Arthur's eyes, a victorious smile cracked open as he shut and locked his door.

Incessant, muffled complaints followed between the bathroom and the kitchen, and the British was proud of his work. All had been settled, save for the load in his slightly sore arms. Despite the weight of the Japanese, he was so delicate that Arthur feared he might shatter to a million pieces if his fragile body should hit the floor. With his deft hands, the gentleman gently placed Kiku down onto the soft mattress, leaving the smaller man closer to the wall so that he would not fall off the bed. As he set Kiku down, the limp head swayed to the side as most of the fine midnight-black hair dangled back, unveiling his doll-like countenance. Such intricacy in the pureness of his pallid features had a charm of its own, and Arthur, who was so absorbed in his observation, forgot to tuck in the injured. He lied down beside Kiku, still studying the features as he brushed aside a few strands of hair. It was curious how he had not perceived these striking details during their time together at the bastion, where the proximity, the mood, and the occasion were perfect. When skin met skin, the back of his finger against the tender cheek, darkness crept up to Arthur. Apprehension seized him, as he inched slowly towards Kiku, coming face to face with the unconscious fellow before him.

Gloominess infiltrated his recesses, pricking his heart and filling it with an acrid melancholy that tore away at his flesh, but Arthur remained calm, as he sadly, endearingly whispered to the youth, "Kiku... what have you done to me?"

~END


	11. Chapter 7: Wall of Glass, Part I

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 7 – Wall of Glass (Part I)

Author: Udon Penguin

Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/Japan, Russia/China, Belarus, Taiwan

Rating: G

Warning: hangover, implied unhappiness (4Kids would censor that)

Summary: The last infiltration was a fiasco, and so Arthur and Kiku decided to organize a plan #2.

A/N: I'm going to be busy so no more updates until next week. T^T Your patience will be rewarded.  
****HEY! One small detail changed in the conversation between Russia and Belarus. It's actually not that important here, but I don't want any incongruencies in the later chapters.

* * *

"How is your back, Natalia?" the Russian inquired, though the sharp solemn eyes remained fixed on the paper before him, instead of the young woman on the red carpet.

"I'm fine, Brother Ivan. Much better, in fact," Natalia replied with her head down, concealing a smile of delight, "Can I be of any service?"

"Have Toris cancel all of my meetings for Tuesday," he looked up from his desk, bearing his usual jovial mien, "I'd like to visit Wang Yao, so have everything ready by then."

"Yes, Brother Ivan. Would that be all?" was her answer, yet her smile had turned to a frown upon hearing Ivan mention Yao's name.

Ivan resumed with his work, skimming as he nonchalantly answered, "That'll be all for now. Please do get some rest, Sister. It wouldn't do for that cut to leave a scar."

"Thank you, dear Brother. You needn't worry…" and the platinum-blond girl exited the room, out of Ivan's sight, "…allow me to take care of this."

…

"Brother Yao," Mei lightly tapped her brother's shoulder as she brought a small bowl of ginseng soup before him, "Please drink some of this."

Wang Yao reached out with a frail hand and accepted the drink, but his weary eyes hovered over to his sister and regarded her quizzically, "Where are the rest of the family?"

"Yong Soo was at your side all night, but I finally forced him to bed this morning. As for Hong, he's in the market for groceries."

There was a pause. Wang Yao waited patiently for his sister to finish but soon realized she had no answer for the unmentioned brother, "And Kiku?"

"Um," Mei pressed the back of her cream-colored sleeve to her mouth, hastily devising a credible lie, "He's been busy…"

"Mei-Mei, I don't have the energy to play games with you," Wang Yao closed his eyes as he reclined against his bedpost, "You don't know where he is, do you?"

"No, Brother Yao, I honestly don't know," Mei heaved a sigh, "Hong and I have been searching around the house, but we couldn't find him. I heard from the maids that he stormed off on the night right after he and Yong Soo had fought… Promise me not to tell Yong Soo. If he knows, he'll get mad again and lash out at all of us. I don't want that."

"_You've run out of options, so why not join with me?" _

Words from the past replayed like an old record.

"_Don't you want to keep your family's honor?" _

He could still remember those yesterdays with Ivan, memories that were deeply imprinted into his mind. Despite the time that had come between them, the impression was fresh, burning and chilling altogether. His fever burned, yet Wang Yao was covered in cold sweat. He knew…

"_I'm sure you wouldn't want to burden any of them…"_

He knew Ivan had been right all along.

"I won't say a word," he patted Mei's hand consolingly with a wry smile.

…

In the dining room beside the kitchen of Arthur's flat, underneath an unlit lamp, a pair of autumn-brown eyes was fixed on the pair of spring-green ones. Kiku had his chin leaning against the back of his hand, a groggy, grumpy look about him. Groggy because an immense headache of a hangover had greeted him promptly after the blinding wake-up call from the twelve-o-clock sunlight; grumpy because the drunken aftertaste had given him a case of the clumsiness that made him stub his toe, which not only hurt but, somehow without any logical means, brought back all the memories of the awkward, intoxicated moments he had the night before. – All of which were unbeknownst to Arthur, who was too busy staring at the roses, mind floating off elsewhere, until an idea had dawned on him.

"There is someone who can help us," the British began, "She belongs to one of the several families in the Union and had attempted to cut ties with it in the past. Perhaps she'd be willing to share a thing or two about Braginsky and the Union."

Kiku darted his eyes to the side as he took the blonde's words into consideration, his hands now folded at his lips, "That would be helpful, but why haven't you mentioned her until now?"

Arthur beamed with poise at the Japanese, "I thought you might ask, and I was just getting to that. The reason I haven't brought her up from the start is that her credibility is questionable. The problem is no one can tell where she stands. At one moment, she's close with Braginsky, and at another, she changes her mind. Quite erratic, don't you think?"

"Yes, but I suppose it would be necessary to pay her a visit," Kiku ruminated, "Even if she were to betray us, Braginsky would have to know about us sooner or later. Taking or not taking the risk would be the same for us."

"Hm," the British listened amusedly, "You have a point there, but it sounds reckless coming from you…"

"I would be reckless," chuckled Kiku, "only when the occasion calls for it."

"…I think it's rather dashing," a radiant smile lit across Arthur's face as he got up, while the dark-haired youth blushed from the sudden compliment, "So, what are we waiting for? Let's go find our friend."

"Is she even expecting us?" the Japanese posed the question concernedly, following Arthur to his room.

At the closet of his room, Arthur donned a beige overcoat before the mirror and then turned to Kiku playfully, "What are you so worried about? I've already contacted her beforehand, so there won't be a problem."

He glanced at the periwinkle kimono thoughtfully, slapped a fedora onto Kiku's head, and wrapped a woolen scarf around the slender neck, "Instead, I think you should worry more about yourself."

With nothing better to say, Kiku quietly adjusted the dark gray hat and wondered how this meeting would fare within the next few moments.

(…To be continued…)


	12. Chapter 7: Wall of Glass, Part II

Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 7 – Wall of Glass, Part II

Author: Udon Penguin

A/N: I'd like to thank all you sassy reviewers out there! Without you, I wouldn't have the confidence to come this far. As a reward, everybody gets a hug from (naked) Brother France! *ish shot*

No more breathers. I'm getting down to business with this fanfiction! Summer vacation's about to end for me, so hopefully, I'll be able to finish this soon… If you're wondering why this chapter is so freakin' long compared to the others, it's because I can't find the right place to cut up the portions. If I cut up Part I (before the ellipses "…"), it'd be too short, and Part II's out of the question (and if you read Part II, you'll get what I mean). For those who are wondering why the fanfiction suddenly made a big shift… *coughcoughlookattheratingcoughcough*

One more thing: To make sure that you won't come running to me in a slobbering mess of confusion…

Yekaterina "Katyusha" Braginskaya = Ukraine

* * *

"Miss Braginskaya?" a red-headed maid opened the door to the living room, where on the blue couch sat the mistress, "Your guests are here."

"Ah, good," the young woman stood up and put aside her knitting, "Let them in."

The guests followed the maid into the cozy room, past the green-framed door veiled beneath a translucent curtain. The walls were adorned with a wallpaper of lavender and long vines of ivy, floors tiled with red bricks. The interior appeared to be more of a terrace than a living room. The wide ceiling and bay windows before them illuminated the verdant green on the walls and the plants that hung from the racks. Despite the eccentricity of the design, Kiku found the abode to be quite pleasing to the eyes. It somehow reminded him of his first meeting with Arthur in the garden, not too long ago.

The young mistress approached Arthur, extending a hand to greet him, "It's good to see you again, Arthur!"

"Yes, it's been a while, Miss Braginskaya," he lightly pecked the hand and then beckoned Kiku to present himself, "This is Kiku Honda a friend of mine."

"Kiku, this is Yekaterina Braginskaya."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Braginskaya" Kiku nodded.

"No need to be so polite with me. Call me 'Katyusha', if you like," Katyusha smiled openly, as she gestured the guests to have a seat.

"I haven't had such pleasant company in a while. My last guests turned out to be inspectors sent by Ivan. Apparently someone laid the blame on me for smuggling oil to the Americans, but I would never do something as risky as that. The Union can be so distrusting these days."

"I'm taking that as a hint that anti-Union activities have been on the rise," Arthur surmised.

"No, it's just the Polish boy," she waved her hand and then adjusted the green beret, "He's been making a loud fuss over one of the Baltic brothers, and since then, Ivan's been keeping a tight leash on everyone. I can't say I like all these new regulations, but at least the family's still in business. If you want my guess, I think he's the least concerned with anti-Union activists. They've been around since the beginning, so it's hardly an issue. Ivan has other things on his mind."

"What might be the problem, then?" Kiku asked eagerly.

"Possibly the Americans and the other Westerners," she deliberated, tilting her head with a thoughtful expression, "Then there's the Circle…"

With her keen sky-blue eyes, the girl noticed the change on Kiku's face, but continued with the same hearty smile, "…And, if I'm not mistaken, that's why you're here, Kiku? Don't look so concerned; we're on the same side."

"As for the Circle becoming one with the Union, well, that's something beyond my understanding. There are all kinds of explanation for Ivan's motives, but what do they matter? Strange as it is, only Ivan knows what he's doing… Personally, I'd prefer if the Circle could put up a fight against the Union. With so few anti-Unionists, we could really use some help, especially from someone as influential as your brother. I'm sure that he sent you here for the same reason."

Kiku shifted uncomfortably. Up until the moment, he had not disclosed any of his personal motives against the Union to Arthur, and yet, here, in this unfamiliar tenement, this stranger, already branded with dubious reliability, was eager to pry open his personal matters. He was at a loss of words.

Yekaterina lightly patted his shoulder with sisterly affection, "Don't be shy, Kiku. We're all here to help each other, so there's no need to hide anything. Trust is something that you build overtime, but that won't happen if you keep too many things to yourself."

"How do we know that you can be trusted?" Arthur posed the question with curiosity.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, confessing resignedly, "I've put my cards on the table, but how can I be sure that neither of you are spies from the Union? There is no way to know, Arthur, and the only thing you can be sure is whether you want to trust me or not. And I've made my answer clear."

The Japanese could not agree more with Katyusha, for those were the same exact thoughts he had acknowledged to the British earlier, and so he admitted as well, "Miss Braginskaya is right. The truth is, no one has sent me here, least of all Wang Yao. I am here by my own decision but, if my brother were here, he would be pleased to be of assistance. I'll be sure to notify him as soon as I return home."

"Of course, I'd be very happy if we can come to an agreement," she nodded assuredly, "All of the anti-Unionists, including myself, have had the privilege of Arthur's help, but we need all the friends we can find."

The conversation sustained nicely, as they came to an accord on the potential, new alliance. However, as the sky had turned to late afternoon red, Katyusha checked the clock on the olive green wall across from her seat, "Oh, it's almost time. I'm sorry, Arthur, Kiku, but I have a meeting coming up."

"That's quite alright, Miss Braginskaya," Arthur replied agreeably as he and Kiku proceeded to the door, "We'll keep in touch."

"Forgive me, but as I've said, the Union has been keeping a tight watch on us, so please be patient for the time being," she acquiesced contently, "I'll contact the both of you as soon as I can. Be seeing you two!"

The two men departed from the building, and the room fell silent.

Katyusha returned to the blue couch and sprawled her limbs out leisurely. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, "Well, that went pretty well…"

"You almost had me convinced that you were serious about opposing Ivan," Natalia stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, casing her knife forebodingly.

The older sister shrugged, taking the would-be menace as a compliment, "You're welcome, Sister, that is, if this phony alliance means anything to you."

Natalia said nothing, and instead, advanced her way to the door. Katyusha watched curiously and queried, "So where are you off to?"

"I had to be sure that Wang Yao had betrayed my brother, but since he hasn't…… I should go," the platinum-blonde replied coldly, reaching for the gold doorknob.

"Ivan will be coming over for dinner soon. Do you want us to wait?" Katyusha turned to her sister, waiting for an answer.

The younger sister lingered for a minute, but then shook her head and exited into the snow-covered streets.

…

Kiku found himself troubled by the silence that followed him and Arthur to the flat. He swung open the paper door but the sound of sliding wood did not interrupt the awkward moment; instead, it persisted, which made the Japanese even more uncomfortable. For a subordinate, Katyusha not only held considerable knowledge concerning the relationship between the Union and the Circle, but also understood Ivan Braginsky well – so well that, in fact, she was confident enough to perceive his thoughts. Not only that, but she was also aware that the Circle, or rather, Wang Yao, had objected to the Union's advances despite that the Circle had not yet made any official response. On the other hand, she and Arthur had known each other for some time… Had Arthur noticed the extent of her knowledge?

"What are you looking at, Kiku?" Arthur observed beside the door of his room, "Is there something wrong?"

Honda, startled by the call, found himself looking out from the wide window of the living room. It was a quiet, snowy evening and hardly anything could be seen save for the footprints illuminated beneath the streetlamps. Small clusters of frost blanketed the windowpanes on which, from the alternate side, the Japanese had placed a hand.

"While I have no doubt that Miss Braginskaya is resourceful," Kiku answered warily, "I do wonder… How is it that she knew Wang Yao is my brother?"

"Who knows," the Englishman, who had just hung his coat on a chair, responded as he approached the other man, "Yekaterina has vast connections, so it's no surprise that she would be well-informed of any recent events, especially anything that concerns the unification, let alone the details behind each organization."

"That could be possible," the dark-haired youth contemplated, still staring into the lone strip of the avenue, "but I think this has something more to do with you."

"You catch on rather quickly," Arthur shrugged his shoulders, "Yes, I was the one who told Yekaterina about you. What made you think of this?"

"It's been on my mind since we've left," stated Kiku as he began to fiddle around with the fedora, "Even when Miss Braginskaya revealed my identity, you weren't bothered the least bit, so you must have known about my connection to Wang Yao beforehand. You're very difficult to understand, Arthur."

"It's my duty to know the people around me, but is there anything wrong for me to know about your identity?" the gentleman justified matter-of-factly.

It was then that a cruel notion had crossed Kiku's mind: Was their mutuality nothing more than a fallacy? Perhaps, in the end, he had been fooled by the deceiving clarity of Arthur's character, only to arrive at the cold, hard surface of the wall that ultimately divided them. Their alliance had come to an impasse, suspended in a crisis of faith.

"No, but it's discomforting. Some people would use that information to their own advantage… Ah, Forgive me, I've said too much," he broke off, realizing that he had openly stated his suspicion, and proceeded past Arthur.

Dissatisfied, Arthur violently tugged him back by the wrist, causing fedora to drop to the floor, "Is that how it is, Kiku? Am I really no better than Yekaterina? I thought you've trusted me all this time."

Kiku wrenched the hand from his wrist, as he retorted irritably, "What if I don't? As far as I know, I'm not the only one keeping things to myself."

He bitterly looked away, leaving a gap between him and Arthur. Lost and embarrassed, mind in a jumbled mess, he did not know what to do. Had he finally reached the end? The world suddenly felt empty. Leaving was no difficult task; all he had to do was cross the threshold and Arthur would disappear from his world.

"Please don't go, Kiku…" the British begged quietly, cautiously walking up to him.

Kiku lowered his head, troubled with uncertainty, "What more could you want from me?"

The blonde wrapped his arms around Kiku, "What else could it be? Nothing else but you…"

Arthur hated confessions. He felt his words were dry and insincere, but he knew was not. He was just as afraid as Kiku and, if he could, he wanted the dark-haired youth to stay by his side, even for just a minute. _If there was only some way to remember him_, and he embraced the other with a kiss.

As Arthur pressed his lips on Kiku's, Kiku could smell the cologne of roses emanating from the very nape of the man before him. He indulged, as their tongues engaged in a viscous exchange of sweet honey, the flavor that he yearned – He pushed Arthur away, "Stop it, Arthur. Wang Yao needs me."

Anxiety overcame Kiku, and he hurriedly escaped from Arthur's clutches, only to be held back again. Arthur had grabbed him back by the waist, holding him close against his beating heart, "Forget about your brother and think of yourself for a change. You've done enough for him."

The blond glanced at Kiku and then rested his forehead with a sigh on the other's, "I don't know what's come to me. I haven't been able to get you off my mind since we've met –"

Arthur felt the delicate hands seize him, while Kiku interrupted him with a slow, thorough kiss and withdrew to catch his breath.

Arthur met Kiku's rich, chocolate eyes which darkened when the latter pressed closer. The sultriness of Kiku's breath dampened his lip and that pulled the final straw of self-restraint. Reason was thrown out the window and Arthur sank his mouth into Kiku's, forcefully demanding his way through the soft lining of Kiku's lips, searching for an answer. One hand slithered caresses from the smooth skin of the neck to the silky brushes of ebony hair. The other hand discreetly slipped off the jacket that had hung over Kiku's shoulders a second ago.

The brown-eyed youth opened his lips and allowed Arthur to explore the inside of his mouth as he grasped the pinstriped tie that hung about the blond's neck. He might as well open the way to his heart and let all emotions pour out to his heart's content, even if it means he had to melt this room with the rest of tomorrow – in fact, screw tomorrow… Kiku tumbled back onto the sofa but coughed from a forceful jab on the stomach which barely missed his sewn-up wound.

Startled, Arthur immediately released the Japanese, "I'm sorry, Kiku –"

Kiku respired in short intervals but got up to Arthur's ear, clinging to him as he whispered unevenly, "Don't stop…"

They resumed in the passionate kisses. Afraid that he might injure Kiku's delicate body, Arthur moved slowly this time, picking up Kiku, holding him tightly so that he would never slip from his arms again. They melted into each other's beings from wall to wall, creating a trail of clothing behind them. Finally, Arthur plunged Kiku into the bed; he released his mouth from Kiku's soft ones, nudging his nose against the porcelain cheeks. Ardent green eyes admired the pristine contours of the lithe body, the painted doll-like visage, the gentle hand which he took and kissed lovingly.

Abashedly, Kiku closed shut his bare legs and squirmed, in hopes of squeezing out the embarrassment that tinkled his insides, only to find that he had been unintentionally goading the nether region between the inner flanks of Arthur's legs.

However, the Englishman did not mind the prodding of the knee against his crotch; moreover, he enjoyed it thoroughly. He slipped off the kimono to expose the shoulder with which he had been acquainted the night before, all the more to reveal the graceful curve of Kiku's slender neck. If, at any other time, Arthur was able to recollect the details of this one intimate night, he would have laughed at how these small signs of naked skin would turn him on, yet at this very moment, he could not help but want more. More, he thought as he charted the slopes of the neck with fervent kisses and bites; more, he pleaded while he fondled the peaks of the petite breasts. He arrived at the waist where the obi firmly secured Kiku's robe, but Arthur was not a man to be overcome by these small hindrances, he patiently removed the cloth belt knot by knot… but Kiku was fed up with the wait and (literally), impatiently tore off the fabric.

"My, someone's in a hurry," teased the blond as he removed the robe and moved down, along his abdomen and came to the wound stranded together by the fishing line.

Arthur traced the once-breached skin with the rim of his mouth, marveling at the rough handiwork, the dark-haired youth might seem fragile from the small frame of his body and passive from the indifferent expression which he nearly always wore at ease, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover. In truth, Kiku was neither fragile nor passive, and these stitches were his testament.

Kiku could feel Arthur's breath tickling its way down, leaving a steamy path as a subtle mark on his body. His breath trembled and his legs constricted, but Arthur eased the smaller man assuredly with the deftness of his hand, carefully parting each leg, and moved in. Kiku's body twisted and his face reddened from the faint licking and sucking of his length. The very movement of the tongue pleased him immensely. The rush of juices trickled down his sensitive skin. His legs shuddered; his hands clinched to the white bedsheets; but most of all, his entire being burned, yearned – oh how he missed his presence.

His body arched, begging in feverish desire, "A-Arthur… please…"

How the sultry voice were music to Arthur's ears, for he could not resist and clambered to meet the writhing figure that curved flawlessly. He came face-to-face with Kiku and had his tongue reach out from his mouth to find the other's. With one hand, the gentleman stroked the midnight hair with an iridescence equivalent to the clammy, pale skin of his partner, while the other hand travelled from the erection to the tense niche further back.

A combination of pleasure and pain shot up from the rear, but Kiku choked back the impulse to whimper at each tender stroke. Instead, he allowed his hands to move across the firm shoulders, down to the mountains of Arthur's chest, handling each structure as he mapped out the muscles of his torso, down to the stomach, down, down, down…

Before Arthur knew it, his already hardened length were cushioned between the palms of Kiku's hands, and he held the Japanese even closer, keeping Kiku's mouth company with his, as he removed his partner's hands. Then, he slipped his cock into the wet opening with utmost care.

Kiku pulled his mouth away again, growling as he tried to reach out and grab something for comfort, but Arthur clasped the hands with his own while he pushed his way inside. Under the dim lights, they joined as one. The smaller man moaned at each steady, sliding movement of the blond. He willingly submitted, allowing Arthur to possess him entirely, to let him to live, to prove his existence, and he too wanted every bit of what defined Arthur. Kiku intertwined with Arthur amidst the steam of obsessive craze, bound in an inexplicable rapture mellifluous as the harmony of their shared movements, forceful as the reverberation of their conjoined bodies thrusting against each other. The couple came in unison, as the white fluid oozed in the fermented atmosphere.

Having exerted the last of his strength, Arthur plopped down on the reclined youth beneath him. Both men gasped for breath, loosening their grip on each other's hands.

The separation was short-lived. Once Arthur and Kiku recovered, they embraced, sneaking kisses in between the cuddling.

Kiku nestled into Arthur's chest, warming his heart with the blonde's very essences: the smell of the rose cologne, the moisture from perspiration, the soft strands of hair with every hue of gold, and those clever hands. He wondered how things would be different if he were to leave – No, that no longer mattered. What really mattered was that Arthur was by his side and he was here to stay. The wall of glass had been shattered and there was no point of return.

-END


	13. Chapter 8: Messages, Part I

A/N: I'm going on a trip next week, but I hate to keep everyone waiting, so here's the next chapter. Enjoy! :D

Translations:

_Huen-zhang_ = Chinese equivalent of "bastard" (or something worse)

Chapter 8 – Messages and Morning Tea, Part I

THUD!

Kiku ripped open his eyes and found himself on the floor. It had been the first time in years since he rolled off the bed. He felt ridiculous, maybe even a little giddy. His mouth was dry and his stomach growled from the strong aroma of coffee. How long had he been sleeping? Nothing seem to come to mind, save that he was extraordinarily hungry. His inner earthquake needed to be calmed.

He reached for the bed and clambered onto it, but his back and rear protested in sores, urging Kiku to lie back on the bed. The calls from his body were heard and he answered. He settled back on the soft mattress. There were aches all over his body and he wondered what could possibly – _Oh_… was all that he could mentally utter. "Oh" as in a reaction from an awkward epiphany – the awkward epiphany that happened to be… Just by the train of thought, Kiku flushed in a mixed batter of emotions. So should he be happy? He did want to stay by his side… Or was he just rushing into things? Had he finally lost control of himself? After all, he was still naked – his clothes already flung to the other side of the room. His obi was, well, not quite functional at the moment. _Ridiculous_, he thought. There was no need to tear off the belt – in fact, it was just plain stupid.

Kiku shook his head and went to fetch his kimono. He clumsily slipped it on, fastening his hand to one side of the robe until he could find another belt – the belt in his bag which was in god-knows-where. The only way to know where his bag had been was to leave the room.

He hesitated. What if he should see Arthur? His heart pounded excitedly. What should he say? _Enough_, he slapped both of his cheeks simultaneously. He had to get a hold of himself. All he had to do was walk into the dining room and greet the Englishman. He turned the knob of the door and stepped out.

"Bonjour."

Kiku froze. Instead of having to greet Arthur in the morning, he was greeted by stubble-man who happened to be reading the morning papers, ready with coffee and croissant.

"Ah, um, good morning," the Japanese stuttered as he suddenly felt the kimono was not enough to cover his skin, "You must be Arthur's roommate."

"Oui, Francis, s'il vous plaît," Francis nodded pleasantly, lowering the paper as he took a gander at the young man before him, "Coffee?"

"Thank you," Kiku accepted happily. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the bag on the couch behind him and rushed for it. He reached in and found the black obi he used two nights ago, hastily wrapping the cloth around his waist into a firm knot.

He returned to the dining room and took a seat beside the Frenchman, who offered him a croissant. He received the proffered food graciously but stopped for a moment when he noticed Arthur's absence.

"Francis," he shifted bashfully, still not accustomed to calling acquaintances by their first names, "Have you seen Arthur?"

"He's left town for work. Said he'll be back by tomorrow for lunch," a mischievous smile lit across Francis's face when he detected Kiku's slight disappointment, "Miss him already?"

Kiku turned bright red and looked away. His heart skipped two extra beats from the Frenchman's acuteness, "N-no, I was only curious. That's all."

"You're too easy to read, mon ami," Francis chuckled from Kiku's flustered reaction, "Et besides, having him disappear so suddenly after making love to you does sound a little tasteless."

After processing Francis's statement from his thick accent, the Japanese shuddered uncomfortably, "You must be mistaken. Arthur and I are only business friends."

Francis arched a light-colored eyebrow, a tell-tale sign of disbelief, as he sipped some coffee "D'accord. I could tell from the clothes you two left behind. Très professionnel, indeed."

Kiku's stomach churned and he wanted to crawl under the table and die. There was no point in further argument, so he simply took a bite from his croissant and said no more.

"Don't be so grumpy. It was just a joke," Francis attempted to relieve the embarrassed Japanese with a pat on the back, but then checked his watch, "Pardonne moi, but I have a boulangerie-pâtisserie waiting."

The Frenchman left his chair and proceeded to the sink with his mug and plate. Once the utensils were washed, he grabbed his coat and shoulder bag and prepared to leave the room. At the paper door, he turned back to Kiku, "Alors, before I forget, he said he left something for you in his room."

Kiku lifted his head from the table with a glint of interest in his rich brown eyes, "What is it?"

Francis shrugged, opening the door and stepping out of the room, "I don't know, but I wish you luck. Ciao."

With that said, the paper door closed, and Kiku was left all alone.

It disappointed him that Arthur gave no warning of his unexpected trip, but then again, it was not supposed to be any of Kiku's business. The two of them lived in separate worlds and they each had a duty of their own. He felt guilty, for neglecting his own, and yet he wondered if Arthur had really opened his heart to him, as he had to the said blond… Francis was right. It was bad taste to leave him behind without a single word. Then again, Arthur did leave him something, so obviously the man had something to tell him. Something important. Important enough for Kiku not to be some cheap one-night stand. The Japanese felt a chill trickle down his spine. At the very least, he would take comfort with that thought in mind.

What could Arthur possibly give him? Kiku entered the room and had his alert eyes search all over the room. It did not take him long to find a small, octagonal container that had a "For Kiku" post-it note attached to it. He took the vessel in his hands and scrutinized the said object, which seemed oddly familiar…

He observed closely at the red packaging furnished with gilded letters and outlines, and elaborate phoenixes fluttering from peony to peony. Judging by the decorations, he knew it had to be a tea box from either Wang Yao or the Circle. He exhaled slowly and opened the lid with his unsteady hands. There was nothing but a strip of paper. Kiku extracted the paper and perused through the inked letter…

.x.O.x.

Mr. K:

There have been rumors of a potential unification between the Union and the Circle. If it is true, her Majesty, the Queen, will be most displeased. A merging does not prove to be auspicious, as share of profits would heavily sabotage the economy. Investigate further on Braginsky's so-called "protection" over the Circle. Report back immediately should there be any changes in the current situation.

Love always,

V

.x.O.x.

The letter slid from Kiku's hands and glided to the floor. _"Protection"?_ he reflected bewilderedly, _What's the meaning of this?_ His mind became a jumbled mess. What was Arthur trying to tell him? Kiku slid his hair back with a sigh, calming himself while sorting out his thoughts.

What does Braginsky want from the Circle? He had contemplated this question dozens of times and had usually concluded with one simple answer: What more than to have another large organization fed to the Union? Greed for power was no surprise from cold-hearted pigs such as Braginsky. It was a rather comforting assumption, for Kiku did not have to think twice about taking the Russian's head. There would be no guilt. One less swine would do the world some justice. Nowadays, however, his hypothesis was starting to sound naïve. There seemed to be more layers to the matters-at-hand-

RING! RING!

Should he pick up? After all, it could be Arthur calling.

RING! RING!

Forget it. It could just be someone else, and besides, it was not his phone to answer.

RING! RING-

"_Please leave a message after the beep." BEEP!_

"Kiku? Are you there?" a familiar female voice crackled from the other line, "It's me, _xiao-mei_."

Mei? How did she find him?

"Listen, I-I – Hey! Stop it!-" fumbling noises in the background could be heard. Apparently there was struggle between two or three people, but Kiku had a hard time guessing at the possibilities.

Then there was silence, until the sound of the phone reemerged, "Kiku, I'll explain everything later, but please - just - come home as soon as you can."

(…To be continued)


	14. Chapter 8: Messages, Part II

A/N: Augh! School's going to start soon _ The fanfic's going to end in about two (or three?) chapters. Once again, thank you, readers and reviewers, for you have encouraged me to come this far. Funnest summer project ever yet! :D

Translations: _Huen-zhang_ = Chinese equivalent of "bastard" (or something worse)

Chapter 8 – Messages and Morning Tea, Part II

.x.O.x.

Mei was just about to set down the phone but dropped it with a loud ringing of the bell. She could feel her body trembling beneath her skin as she turned to face Hong, who had his hands tied behind his back and a cloth muffling his mouth.

"Don't start getting any ideas," a knife was held to the young man's neck, "Take me to him now."

Mei-mei nodded obediently. From one corridor to the next, she guided the intruder and the hostage. Despite her earlier trepidation, she was unusually calm. She led the way as if she was a tour-guide, save that she was silent for the most part. Both of her brothers' lives were on the line, but the situation could be worse if she did not possess a composed nature.

The Taiwanese girl arrived at the wooden double-doors, stopping as she patiently waited for the Belarusian woman and her hostage.

"Let me check if he's alright," Mei announced as she opened the door.

"No need," Natalia sped in, throwing Hong into Mei. The door behind her swiftly slammed shut. An extra click followed, "Shit."

Meanwhile, the siblings ran. Mei raised an arm triumphantly, "See, Hong? I knew that trick would work on her."

Hong shook his head at his sister's enthusiasm as he gently shook her back to reality, "Mei, you do realize that she'll find another way -?"

CRACK! The sound of shattering glass crackled from afar. Mei and Hong hesitated for a moment before they, to their greatest horror, managed to discern the source of the disruption. If Mei had the time, she would have slapped some sense into Hong, but for the time being, the Taiwanese did nothing but stare anxiously at her brother, who stared back with less emotion but felt equivalently anxious as his sister.

"Brother Yao!" both exclaimed as they dashed to the sick man's room.

Natalia hopped from roof to roof. Fuming with rage, she cursed at her earlier display of humiliation. How dare they assume the meager cage would be enough contain her. She clenched her fist tightly, disgruntled and yearning to give Wang Yao a piece of her mind. She perceived the duo siblings frantically rushing to Wang Yao's room and she smirked at the pitiful sight. _Too slow_. Gracefully, she slid down the terra-cotta eaves, pounced a few feet from Mei and Hong, and darted for the red door before her.

"Wait!"

But Natalia did not wait. The sand of time was slipping down the hourglass, and she needed every grain to finish what she came to do... The platinum blond slammed the door behind her and bolted it... And no one was going to stop her.

The place reeked of burnt wood but the passageway before Natalia was empty and dark, perhaps forlorn judging by the lonely stillness of dusty furniture. Noiselessly, she progressed along the narrow path of solitude, offering none of her condolences to the frozen, isolated atmosphere. These trivial details were hardly on her mind, for she had a greater problem to settle. At the end of the hallway, she turned and barged into her destination.

As she had surmised, the Chinese was found in his bed, conscious, weapon in hand, apparently expecting her. Despite that Wang Yao had been glaring knives at her, the Belarusian scarcely found him intimidating. Illness was painted across his face: The rings under his eyes were darker; he became thinner, to the point of emaciation; and his grip on the sword was rather shaky. Really, how far had he fallen? What a miserable sight, albeit she despised – and, more or less, envied - him.

"Pathetic," Natalia mercilessly censured, "I knew you to be better than this."

"You have some nerve to set foot in my house, aru," Wang Yao spat angrily, though he struggled under his breath to maintain his stance.

A blood vessel twitched on her forehead, as she restrained the urge to send a dagger flying at him. The blond lowered her head and glowered forebodingly at the Chinese, "It's your own fault for hiring lame security guards."

Natalia took a few steps forward but distanced herself from the sword's reach, "I'm here to talk to you about Ivan."

"What does he want this time?" Yao's hand was beginning to quiver, "Did he send you here to kill me if I say 'no'?"

The latter statement lit the match in the powder barrel. She leapt up and ricocheted from the ceiling, tearing her way down. She crashed on his back and knocked the sword out of his hand. Clawing into his back, she shoved him to the bed and locked his limbs with whole of her weight, "That would have been my pleasure…

Natalia pulled out her dagger and rammed it into the bedsheets, a mere millimeter from the pale visage, "…If only Brother Ivan would agree to it. I've longed to kill you, Wang Yao, and believe me, you can be a real eyesore."

He struggled, but Natalia had no intentions of emancipating him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Wang Yao disputed with a strong hint of sarcasm, "Isn't that what he wants, aru?"

The Belarusian seized an arm and bent it slightly, and Yao winced as she answered, "Don't push your luck with me. I'm not here for your stupid Circle, and I would love to finish our talk before Ivan comes over tomorrow."

"What?" the Chinese was befuddled, "I thought-"

"Will you shut up, already?" she shook him aggressively, and the man said no more, "I'm going to say this only once, so you better listen, Chinaman.

"You're a problem, do you know that? And as far I'm concerned, Ivan is arranging this little come-together for you – you and your Circle."

Wang Yao felt disgusted, "He's a selfish, perverted _huen-zhang_ who betrayed me!"

"Quiet, you!" again, Natalia shook him with disapproval, "Is this how you think of Ivan, after what he's done for you?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he shouted back indignantly, "If I know any better, he wants the Circle for himself."

"That's where you're wrong, Wang Yao," the Belarusian pointedly interjected, "and I'm here to tell you the truth, whether you want to hear it or not."

.o.X.o.

"Hong, help me find that lever," Mei fumbled through the pile of junk in the storage room, "And where's Yong Soo when we need him? Wasn't he the one who's worried about Brother Yao?"

Hong busily searched with his sister, "He's out for groceries, I fear."

"Oh, right," she smacked a hand to her face, "Perfect timing… That bastard… I wish Kiku could get here sooner."

"Here, use this," the brother handed his sister the object, "It's strong enough to knock the doors down."

Mei eyed her brother with an incredulous scoff, "Hong, this is a mace. Do you really expect me to use this?"

For the first time in years, Hong was not sure how to respond, "Well… um…"

"Well, to hell with the lever, let's go!" the girl exclaimed excitedly as she hurried out, while Hong followed her bemusedly.

.o.X.o.

Back in the bedroom, Natalia had Wang Yao tied to a chair, for she had been fed up with his rebelliousness. Nevertheless she resisted every urge to lash out at her stubborn captive, and patiently narrated "the truth," as if she were retelling a bedtime story for a sleepy child in denial of being sleepy.

"…So while you were falling apart here, he's been holding out for you," Natalia paused and shivered before she resumed, "And you broke his heart. How do you expect me to let him go on like this?"

The Chinese shook his head in disbelief, his heart pounding faster than ever, "You're lying. This is isn't him."

Her chest ached as she choked back a whimper, "I mean what I say."

Wang Yao ceased his protests, waiting for Natalia to speak. The dim light from the window cast her lone shadow, as she forced herself to regain composure, "Start believing it, Wang Yao."

"And what do you expect me to do?" the Chinese looked away with anger. Why did she demand so much of him? Had he not been through enough?

"You can listen to what he has to say. Talk to him. Comfort him. Get rid of the opium – I don't know!" her temper overtook her once more, her breath stifling unsteadily, "Whatever! Anything! Something to show that you actually give a damn about him!"

"Ever since he met you, he couldn't stop talking about you. It's always 'Wang Yao this, Wang Yao that'. And here you are, wondering whether you should accept his feelings. You don't even know half the things he's been through! Or what I've been through!"

Pearls of tears formed at the corner of her eyes, but she quickly wiped them off, noticing Yao concerned gaze, "I don't need your sympathy. Just let my brother be happy for once… He deserves to be understood."

Natalia took a deep breath and reassumed her menacing apathy, "And… keep Kiku Honda away from him. Ivan's already having enough trouble as things are."

The Chinese widened his eyes from the mentioning of his missing brother, "You've seen Kiku?"

"Yes, twice," she answered unpleasantly, "I'm afraid he's associating with the wrong people lately, per se, someone by the name of 'Arthur Kirkland.' Does the name ring a bell?

Yao could not find the words. His expression became even more perplexed, but before he could verbalize his question, the crushing sound of wooden doors broke through the hallway. By the time he reverted his attention to the platinum blond, she was already climbing her way out the window."

"Wait, how did he-"

"Ask him yourself," the Belarusian offered him one last look before she vanished.

END


	15. Chapter 9: Sentiments

**A/N:** Again, I'm really happy and thankful for you readers and reviewers out there. It's because of you, I had the motivation to continue (and I'm sure that you've already read this dozens of times but I really do feel this way). ((teary eyes)) In exchange, everyone gets to be molested by France-niichan! *_____* ((ish shot and arrested)) I'd like to apologize beforehand for any OOC, irredeemable cheesiness, and (hopefully there isn't any, but…) plotholes.

Chapter 9 – Sentiments

.x.O.x.

Arthur Kirkland stood at the fork under the gloomy skies, when the phone in his left pocket began to chime with a cheery tune.

"Hello?" he answered in a concrete, professional tone.

"I have bad news, K," a woman's voice rang, crisp and sharp with clout.

The Englishman perked up a smile, despite that he was not quite jolly in any way, "V, did you get the documents I sent?"

"I did, but we'll get to that later," V tersely remarked, as she broached the bad news, "There's been a change of plans."

"Is something the matter?" he was scarcely vexed, but the blonde did not permit his voice to betray his emotions.

"Q fucked up big time at the convention, and is now being held captive by Braginsky. Since he couldn't summon the nerve to cock a bullet to his mouth, they probably had him tortured until he spilled everything out," V surmised as she retold the events in complaints, "Now the news of our trade ventures with the Circle is out-and-about in the Union."

Arthur half listened and half filtered out her words. A similar rant had been heard before, and he could, if he had put his mind to it, regurgitate every little mishap about which V would have to complain. However, his mind was not there with V by any means. A youth with neck-length, dark hair strolled past him, and the Brit impulsively turned to him upon catching a glimpse of the brilliant shine, but frowned once he realized that the young man was not _him_ at all. _He's probably home by now._ Still, he could not leave V alone with her monologue, so he rejoined the conversation, **"**What does HQ plan to do with Q?"

She harrumphed in return, "I'd prefer to feed him to the wolves, but the authorities have considered otherwise and are negotiating with the Russians as we speak. In other words, I'm calling off this espionage. You have a new assignment, Agent K."

"I'm all ears."

"I want you to pick up Q from the Grand Bastion and head to Forgers Gate, where there will be a helicopter waiting tomorrow midnight," V debriefed coolly, sighing as she concluded.

Arthur lit up his voice, pretending to sound eager as possible, "Have we temporarily made peace with the Russians yet?"

"Don't overexcite yourself. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not too pleased with your performance either," she snapped with a warning, while the blonde could hear the sound of fumbling papers in the background, "Thanks to a particular agent, I have some stunning photographs of you and your lady – or is it laddy? – friend in the corridors, right here on my desk."

"Why, V, I do believe that I'm entitled to a personal life," he justified pointedly.

"While I have no interest in your personal life, Agent K, I don't like it when you take it to work. I'm anticipating what the board members would have to say about the involvement of a civilian third party, on top of Q's cock up. We'll discuss more of this when you return. In the meantime, focus on your mission, and for bloody Christ's sake, don't disappoint me again. Good day!" and she hung up.

With a bitter smile, Arthur slipped the cellphone back into his pocket as he breathed the frigid air, "Love you too, V."

.x.O.x.

His emotional pendulum was vacillating as quickly as the beating of his heart. The night was calm with the bleak winter wind whispering untold secrets that stabbed busy passerby. From the walkway to the arched entrance of the Wang house, the blue hue of solitude pervaded every corner, save for a few maids gathering among themselves, exchanging murmurs with occasional outbursts of "oh my!" or "is that so?".

"What happened here?" Kiku queried, disrupting the busy gossip group.

One of the maids broke off from the group and admitted timidly, "Someone broke into the house and attacked Hong-_shaoye_... and then…"

A chill of dread burst within him, and his voice grew stern despite his calm demeanor, "And then what? Who was the intruder? Is anyone hurt?"

"…A-and then… None of us knew what happened afterward or who the intruder was," she whimpered nervously before her superior, "All I know is that Yong Soo-_shaoye_ was out in the market at the time."

"Kiku, is that you?" Mei loomed from the shadowy porch to the arch, filled with hope and discontent altogether, "You're late!"

She grabbed the Japanese by the wrist and dragged him further into the house until they arrived at the door of Yao's private chambers, where she nearly bumped into Yong Soo.

"Ah, Yong Soo, I – um," she stuttered for an explanation to defend Kiku, but then noticed that the Korean was fixing a glare on the brother, instead of paying her the slightest attention. Mei feared as her stomach muscles tightened from the imposing silence. Sooner or later, something terrible would break out between her two brothers and another miserable night would ensue. Kiku glowered back with an opposed scowl. The belligerent dark brown eyes engaged in a tacit cold war, but Hong walked out of Yao's room and intervened with his maroon dangling sleeve between the disputing pair.

"That's enough," he proclaimed, side-glancing each brother reproachfully, "Kiku, Brother Yao wants to speak with you. Don't keep him waiting.

"And Yong Soo, follow me to the kitchen."

The small-scale cold war came to a halt, and each brother went his way. Into the red door, Kiku slowly paced into the small walkway, until he found the eldest brother resting on the bed.

The Japanese wavered for a moment before he managed to greet the fatigued man before him, "Brother Yao."

"Welcome home, Kiku," Yao beamed at the sight of his little brother, which made the latter even more uncomfortable, but the former gestured to the wooden chair beside him, "Please, sit. There's something I need to tell you."

Obediently, the younger brother took a seat, his feet lined up, his hands folded on his lap, and his back straightened. The eldest brother continued wearily once Kiku was ready to listen, "Ivan will be visiting tomorrow, and I want you to stay in your room for the time being–"

"What?" a look of incredulity and agitation stretched across Kiku's face, "You can't let that horrible man into our house! No, I won't have it!"

Yao's scrunched his thin eyebrows together sternly, "Calm down, Kiku."

"But is that all you're going to do? Give up? Let him do whatever he wants with you?" the Japanese protested, shoving back his chair as he arose objectionably, "That isn't like you at all!"

As soon as Kiku stopped, the room had gone quiet, allowing the lilting cricket chirps to seep in. Both men stared at each other, eyes widening in disbelief. The Japanese covered up his mouth with a hand as guilt dripped into his mind. While the younger brother searched for an apology, the older brother remained still, offering him a sad look.

"I-I'm sorry," the short-haired young man finally uttered, his dark eyes altering to the side, "I heard from the maids that someone broke into our house and I started to fear."

Yao's expression softened as he gently tugged the younger brother into a soothing, fraternal embrace, "It's alright.

"Nothing bad happened here. We're all safe, aru…" he rubbed his back reassuringly, but dithered a little before he spoke again, "Natalia and I talked, and I think it's time that I face him."

"Did she threaten you?" Kiku hid his bitterness in his brother's arms.

"No, she didn't," the Chinese smiled meekly, "but she was pushy, aru..."

"She also mentioned about you and Arthur Kirkland," he then released the Japanese, and looked him in the eye attentively, "Kiku, what have you been doing with this man?"

Distinguishing a trace of antagonism in Yao's question, Kiku selected his words carefully, aware that his determination to be rid of the Russian (or whatever it was that Yao was suspecting) might further agitate his ill brother, "I was worried that Braginsky was up to something, so I turned to Arthur for help."

Yao frowned. He had hoped that the Belarusian was mistaken, but the glint of earnestness in Kiku's eyes hinted otherwise. There was no need to delve further, for the Chinese had already detected the possibilities within the days of Kiku's absence through a slight change in his younger brother. Never had Kiku criticized him so straightforwardly or acted so aggressively, and Wang Yao felt a pang from witnessing that sudden revolution within the latter.

"Get some rest, Kiku," Yao simply nodded as he dismissed the Japanese, who nodded back as he left. Once the sound of the red doors slammed shut, the Chinese he drifted into a sea of thoughts. He had the urge to warn Kiku about his dangerous association, yet he was in no mood to chide anyone, not while his head was burdened with worries. He really needed a smoke. He had been avoiding the opiates for roughly two days, but neither his health nor his mood improved at all. His mind and body were prepared to submit once more. He wanted to indulge in the hazy instants of ecstasy and forget everything on his mind: Ivan, Kiku, the rest of the family, the well-being of the Circle - if only, just for the briefest second.

He gasped. The vicious cycle began again, and there was no escaping. Crinkling his fine, crescent eyebrows, Yao sunk his head into the palm of his frail hand, while the cricket chirps continued.

.x.O.x.

Kiku bit his lip as he walked out, pushing his way through one door after another. His mind spun in mad confusion, and his heart drummed in an uneven tempo. Despite Yao's gentle persuasion, he still could not bring himself to trust Braginsky, not after the Russian's display of hostility toward him and his loved ones.

He held his own arms together from the chill as he stopped at the empty garden, where there was room for him to think. In the earlier days, whenever he and his siblings encountered the wintry winds, Brother Yao would engulf them into his cozy arms, shielding the little ones from the frostbiting nips – those strong, warm hands that gave them comfort, security, and love – that gave them hope and happiness – that gave them home. Those same arms that were once his source of consolation had crippled considerably. If only he knew what was wrong…

'"_Protection" over the Circle,'_ he recalled fragmentally while inadvertently reaching for the note in his sleeve-pocket. Should he relish in happiness if the Braginsky turned out to be an ally? And if so, what would become of him and Arthur?

Doubt never stood well with Kiku, and he certainly had no intentions of leaving his brother alone, not with that debauched Russian under the family's roof. The Japanese sighed, letting his hair slide back as he lifted his shaded brown eyes towards the moon, basking in the essence of the night. All was still, save for the crickets, who recited their endless chant – distant, behind the sheltered walls.

.o.X.o.

The rickshaw pulled over at the arch through where the light of day fell on the façade of ashen-blond hair. Amethyst eyes scanned the wide-open entrance to the Siheyuan, where inside were the remnants of a lavish courtyard. Even in this once vivacious abode, winter had taken its toll, having siphoned the briefest trace of life. The place was still and, to his dismay, lonely. Had _he_ vacated the house?

"Welcome, Braginsky-_xianshen_," a maid suddenly stepped out, addressing the towering figure before her with a curtsy, "I am here to escort you by _Zhuren_'s orders. Please, come this way."

With a subtle gesture of her hand, she led him further into the Siheyuan. One door after another, they were greeted by the same emptiness under the grey, cloudy skies. Braginsky examined each newly encountered section of the house, noticing a few guards placed beside each doorway. Compared to the stringent security in his house, the guards in the Wang house were hardly functional and seemed more like décor that matched the worn furnishings. Were it not for the maid, he would have assumed everything was frozen in time. Not a sound peeped out, save for the howling northerly wind and the sweeping of footsteps.

The latter sound came to a halt when the woman stopped at the lacquered double-doors and pulled on the polished doorknob, "This is as far as I will take you. _Zhuren_ is waiting inside."

"Ah, then that'll be all," the Russian donned his plastered, sweet smile and proceeded ahead. The door closed behind him, and he was left alone in the dark halls. The only faintly discernible light was at the very end of the walkway, where the glow slipped from the small crack of another door. Like a child finding his way out, he slowly paced his way, as the door became more visible with increasing proximity. He held his breath, pushing the door open. As the creaky door opened, a ray of dark gray light sought out his evening-colored eyes.

Beside the obscurely shaped chair was the silhouette of Wang Yao, whose hair seemed to be let loose. The window behind the Chinese was curtained, and only the watchful, golden eyes remained visible, observing Ivan from a safe distance.

The light blond could detect the avoidance from the weaker man, but still maintained his pleasantness, lighting a smile across his angelic countenance, "It's so nice of you to have me escorted, Yao."

"Hello, Ivan. What brings you here, aru?" on the other hand, Yao was not fooled by the radiant mask and did not reciprocate the friendliness extended to him; instead, he remained aloof, patiently anticipating the Russian's next move.

"Why else would I be here?" Ivan inched closer with compelling force.

The Chinese unsheathed his sword, pointing at the lofty man forebodingly, his eyes narrowing to slits "Stay where you are, aru. Try anything suspicious and I'll have you locked up."

"Would you have me clasped in irons if you did?" the ashen-blond jested humorously, undaunted by the gleaming sharpness of the blade. He approached, closing the distance between him and Yao. Nothing was going to come between them, and he would not let Yao slip through his fingers again.

"Are you going to use that on me?" darkness broke through his radiant smile. Soon the Russian found himself within the sword's reach, but no matter. He tapped a gloved finger to his heart, widening his smile, "What are you afraid of? Go ahead."

"You're in insane, aru!" Yao involuntarily dropped the weapon, taking a few steps back, only to find that Ivan had him cornered.

The pleasantries had faded, subsequently replaced by a cold frown and piercing, stormy eyes, "Not as much as you are, Yao…"

Meanwhile, from an alternate entrance, Kiku crept on the porch, dragging his katana discreetly, as he settled to eavesdrop on this little meeting. True to his resolve, he would not leave the eldest brother to Braginsky, no matter how much Wang Yao insisted. Yao was leaving himself open to an enemy, and it frustrated Kiku how no one bothered to protest about the possible risks. If Kiku would be the only one willing to take action, then so be it. He pressed his ear against the wall, wherein was the soft but intimidating voice of the Russian.

"…You're afraid to kill me, but you do it to yourself every now and then," Ivan trapped the smaller man with his arms to the wall, while Yao regarded him in disbelief, "Did you think I wouldn't know by now?"

The Chinese turned his face away, grimacing, eyes downcast, "I don't know what you're talking about, aru."

"Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean," the blond whispered to the small ear icily, "but since you insist on playing dumb, I'll humor you a bit."

Yao could feel the sweat on his forehead and the thumps of his increasing heartbeat, but he kept his head away from Ivan. He wanted no more, but the other man persisted to his horror, "You've been trading for opium with the English in these past two years, and the middleman kept track of your every transaction – all of it on paper."

"You don't have any proof, Ivan," Yao refuted crossly, but then fidgeted with unease as he muttered, "And even if I did, why would it matter?"

"This," the Russian extracted a stack of papers from his coat pocket and held it before the copper brown eyes, "is part of the record. And as for your question…"

He paused a bit, watching Yao's eyes lit up inquisitively, but freed the smaller man as he prepared to walk out, "…Oh, I don't think I remember, but that shouldn't be a problem for someone who insists on knowing nothing."

"Wait! There's something you're not telling me," the Chinese hurriedly clasped the Russian's sleeve, "Answer me, aru!"

"You're so cruel, Yao. I've said so much, yet you refuse to tell me anything," the blond remarked coldly, still with his back turned from Yao, concealing the distress in his bejeweled eyes, "Why didn't you come to me for help earlier?"

"I can handle everything myself, aru," Yao blurted out crossly, releasing the sleeve as he stepped away from Ivan, "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Then look at me," Ivan ordered, turning to the smaller man who remained silent.

Yao bit his lip and lowered his head, refusing to comply with the demand. He knew well what the Russian sought, but he could not bring himself to lift his head, not when he was in a wretched state like this. Guilt, shame, and fear filled him to his unease, and he dared not imagine what had become of him in these last two years.

Seeing as his dark-haired equal made no response, Ivan brusquely pulled Yao to the window and flung open the curtains, allowing the morning light to soak in. There, underneath the rays of the sun, Yao seemed so beautiful, for behind his pallid skin was the fierce, defiant spirit that shadowed a once proud, majestic leader. It was this obstinate, stunning spirit that had first captivated the ashen-blond youth, who now stood before the fallen man, desperately fervent to lift him back up. However, Ivan was not blinded by his admiration, for he was well aware of the deterioration – the tolls of torment on his dearly beloved, and if he must resort to force to save Yao, then so be it.

"Let go, aru!" struggled Yao, who commanded hoarsely. Startled, Kiku grabbed his katana and was about to storm in to his brother's rescue, and yet…

Ivan pressed closer; the storm in his eyes had calmed to a violet haze, his voice ruthlessly cold as General Winter, "Have you ever wondered why I wanted you to become one with me?"

Against the strong, firm arms, the feeble ones were of no match. In the overbearing sunlight, not even the ebony hair could shield his own countenance, and Yao felt exposed, naked, disgraced. Ridiculed, he turned away, forced to consider the inquiry, jaded brown eyes clouded with uncertainty. He had believed that the Russian was openly threatening him and announcing his claim on the Circle, but the notion was overthrown when Natalia had elucidated otherwise – an explanation that left him shell-shocked in ambivalence. Befuddled, he searched for an answer.

…No words were uttered during the brief moment, but all was not still. Behind closed doors, Yao bided his time in Ivan's little guessing game. Outside the wooden walls were the rustling and howling of the wind, which muffled the stifling struggles between the Belarusian and the Japanese. Natalia had already wrenched the sword away from Kiku, pinning him to the door, as she edgily directed him to listen to the conversation next door.

"I – I don't know," the almond eyes were downcast as the Chinese stuttered anxiously, "At first, I thought you wanted to take the Circle away from me…"

"My boss wanted to destroy the Circle," the purple eyes peered dejectedly at the pale visage, a pang of melancholy beating against Russian's chest, "and he wanted you to be disposed along with it."

Yao's eyes went wide upon hearing Ivan's remark. At a loss of words, he could not piece out a response, but the Russian continued, "But I wouldn't have it. I'd much rather be trampled under his boots than to have you taken away from me, so I begged him to propose a unification instead…"

The ashen-blond had his head down, as he pulled Yao into his arms, "I'm sorry… There was no other way."

The engulfing warmth permeated and the smaller man, who felt the inevitable tears on the corner of his eyes, hugged tighter.

"You idiot," Yao chided, burying his head next to the blond's, stroking his back soothingly, "I… I thought I lost you."

Their embrace lasted sweetly, both men in bittersweet happiness to have found each other again; however…

"Yao," Ivan gently took the porcelain hands with serious intent, "Promise me that you'll stop the opium trades. You can't go on like this."

"I don't know if I can, aru," Yao confessed resignedly, "It's going beyond my control."

"But you have to," the Russian tightened his grasp, though not as rough as had been moments earlier, "Your British friend, Arthur Kirkland, the same man who wrote that report, happens to be working for the British Secret Services as "Mr. K." He's been assigned to watch you for some time now."

Kiku gasped under his breath, while Natalia pulled him away from the door before anyone's notice.

"What? That eyebrows bastard was a spy?" Yao questioned bewilderedly, "How did you know about this?"

"Some days ago, while my boss held a convention at my house, one of my men found a British agent lurking near my workroom. Thanks to this "Q," I received more information than I needed," a pleasing smile returned to the blond, "and I was able to have my way with the British. They won't be around to bother you again."

The Chinese grimaced, clenching the Russian's fingers while his tired, umber eyes saddened. He convulsed as he fought back the urge to break into tears; he could not cry when his dignity was on the line, but the more he resisted, the harder it became to repress his emotions.

"Yao?" Ivan called to his friend worriedly, "Yao, what's wrong? Why are you shaking?"

Yao shook even more, as a small tear trickled down his fair cheeks, "I'm sorry, Ivan. I'm sorry how I never noticed until now. You were always there for me, holding onto me, and in return, I showed you nothing but ingratitude."

He threw himself onto the Russian, long locks tailing him with grace as he caught the blond by the neck, "I'm unworthy of everything you've done to help me. And though I'm still mad at you for stabbing my brother, I…"

"You don't need to thank me," Ivan wrapped his arms around Yao, "I should be the one who's sorry, having to make you and your family suffer…"

"And besides, I haven't forgotten our promise that I'd take you to the snowfields of my homeland. I want you to be there with me when the snow falls… in that distant world, where it's so cold that it hurts..."

That promise… Yes, how could he ever forget that day? The memory of the two of them hooking fingers flitted across Yao's mind, and having recalled so clearly of those cherished days, he burst into light sobs, indulging in the warmth and steady heartbeat of his companion. "Thank you," he wept, clutching Ivan cozily to him as his lips curled into a sincere smile. The two of them held each other close, buried in each other's company for the sake lost times, becoming one beneath the clear, blue skies.

END

_**Translations:**_

_Cock up_ = British slang for "mistake"

_Xianshen_ = Chinese version of "mister"

_Shaoye _= Chinese for "young master"

_Zhuren_ = Chinese for "master"


	16. Chapter 10 and Epilogue

A/N: I'd like give my thanks to the readers and reviewers for staying with me till the end. Special thanks goes to the following:

_May_, who patiently listened and helped with the storyline.

_LePetitPappillon_, who proofread the first and last chapter and made a lot of great suggestions.

Thank you all!

Yes, sadly, this is the last chapter, and I want to apologize to the readers beforehand. There is character death, so read at your own risk! T^T

.x.O.x.

**Chapter 10 – ****Last Farewell****, and Epilogue**

What now? There was no answer on his part. Now that he had been pushed into the light, things were no longer the same anymore, and he wished to return to the darkness, where his troubles were less complicated. The pang of betrayal left him raw in the chest, and bitterness flooded his mind with hate – the sense of revulsion for the fact that he could not bring himself to discard his sentiments for the traitor. Had it been with anyone else, he would not need to think twice for sweet retribution… but no… He could not even venture with that notion when it came to Arthur, despite that he bore the violent urge to kill him a hundred times over. His throat burned with qualms of grief, yet despite his want to scream out his anger, no voice would come, save for the cracked whimpers that were barely audible.

"Are you quite finished yet?" a woman called out dryly to him with a hint of annoyance, releasing her grip on his wrist with a thrust.

"I think you should mind your own business," Kiku flung a cold response at her as he rubbed upon said wrist.

"I think I am minding my own business, considering what you had planned to do with this," she held up the encased sword and dropped it before the Japanese man, "Now that both houses have mended ties, you should keep this away from my brother."

Then, darting her cold eyes to the entrance, where a young brunette was patiently conversing with the crabby rickshaw man, she hollered out authoritatively, "You there, you're drawing attention. Send the man on his way already," and before the young man could respond, she turned and walked back into the Siheyuan.

"Yes, ma'am," he bobbed his head up stiffly, finding no one else but the Japanese man before him. His green eyes lit up immediately when he caught sight of Kiku, and approached him with caution, as if they might have been watched.

"Ah, Kiku Honda?" he asked gently despite the anxiety written across his friendly features, "I'm Toris, one of the Baltic brothers. I've heard about you from Katyusha."

On the other hand, Kiku had no desire to speak with anyone, yet still… Old habits were hard to break, and he did not want be rude, "Yes, I am. Can I help you?"

"There's something I think you should know," as Toris began, the decrescendo apparent in his voice, "It's about your friend, Arthur Kirkland."

Mentally, Honda winced at each syllable of the traitor's name, but his neutral countenance remained intact, "Yes, what about him?"

Toris glanced around one more time, before he made his response, "He's in grave danger. They plan to have him shot tonight."

"'They'?" the Japanese man inquired without as much as a hint of worry.

"The men at the Union. Mr. Braginsky plans to execute Kirkland and another agent, even though the British Secret Services had promised not to further pursue with its affairs."

He felt his blood turn cold, but regardless, he pressed on with a steady voice, "Where and when will this happen?"

"Midnight at the amphitheater of Forgers Gate… Ruins not far from the Grand Bastion," the brunette divulged discreetly, "Do you think there's anything we can do?"

Kiku made no answer at first, but then, he walked over to where his katana lay and picked it up. Having dusted the dirt from the polished case, he partially unsheathed the blade, which glared sharply in the sunlight.

"I will take the necessary actions."

.x.O.x.

_Thirty minutes until midnight_, thought Kiku as he entered the site of his destination. Bricks and debris lay untouched in the subdued moonlight. The night was as silent as the way he treaded through the remains. His hands sweated on the case of his weapon, for the Japanese man had hardly loosened his grip since he had left the house. Despite that he came with resolve, he still ached at the chest with guilt, having to leave his family with only a note, but he knew if his siblings had realized his intentions, they would have held him back by all means. He did not want to further agitate his family, now that tensions had slightly eased in the Wang household. Though he still held a grudge over the Russian for the knife-wound, he apprehended that Braginsky was equally keen to protect his Brother Yao, which was probably for the best. It certainly was a relief, for he had matters of his own to settle.

Forgers Gate appeared to be an isolated section of the city, which was appropriate for an assassination to take place. He grimaced. How could he be so naïve to have himself sold – mind, body, and soul, to his beloved, only to have been swindled in the end – only to realize that all along, he was the enemy? Even if the enemy had wronged him terribly, Kiku did not revel when Toris had briefly disclosed that Arthur would be executed by the end of the night. If anything, he wanted to put and end to his personal affairs by his own hands, and not by the works of fate – which could be so cruelly ironic at the best of times.

CRACK. Out of the blue was the snapping sound of dry twigs. Kiku made no sudden movements, but tactfully readied his weapon, while his heart pulsated in increasing volumes.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice of striking British accent called out from the shadows, but the Japanese man did not answer back.

Arthur loomed into the moonlight. His emerald green eyes widened when he recognized the dark-haired youth before him. Unlike his usual composed self, the Englishman had frantic uneasiness spelled across his features, "Kiku? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Kiku fixed him an apathetic look with the dark void of his eyes, unsheathing the katana, "You and I have some unfinished business, Mr. Kirkland – or should I say 'K'?"

Without another word, the Japanese man lunged forward, storming his way to the blond, yet his endeavor was swiftly repelled.

"So you've figured it out…" Arthur blocked the assault with the guard of his sword, giving a once-over before he shoved his assailant back a few steps.

"…And I suppose this is how we'll finish things?"

Kiku stabbed forward, shooting Arthur a glare when the British man dodged the tip of his blade, "I thought there's another agent with you."

A smirk lifted at the corner of the Englishman's mouth, "I found his corpse on the steps of the Grand Bastion. If I didn't know any better, I think they're after me as well."

"Not that you have anything to do with this, I suppose?"

The inquiry infuriated the smaller man with disgust, and he slashed indignantly, effectively slitting through one of the sleeves of his opponent's coat. Offended to have the traitor grace him with such doubts, Kiku mounted a swift uppercut, nearly knocking the British man off his footing; however Arthur allowed himself to roll back to avoid the direct thrust of the katana.

"This will be easier if you stopped moving," Honda uttered bluntly.

On the floor, Arthur swiped at his opponent, who dropped his sword as he fell forward, crashing into the Englishman. When Kiku opened his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with the blond, who regarded him in all seriousness.

"What would you have me do, Kiku?" replied Arthur in between his breath.

Honda pulled out a knife, but Arthur quickly caught both of his hands. The placid green eyes met the fierce, bronze ones, trapping them in a fixed gaze. No matter how hard he had tried, Kiku could not tear his eyes from Arthur. _He is the enemy… the villain who ruined your brother…the man who took advantage of you… And you will show him no mercy…_spoke his conscience, as he attempted to stifle his emotions. Resistance was futile. The misery of his broken heart overtook his sense of reason, and the Japanese no longer persisted to struggle, releasing the weapon in his hand. The agent watched on, making no further attempt to fight.

"Why…" Kiku's voice cracked; the aloofness on the pale countenance had melted off, replaced by one mixed with anger, sorrow altogether, "Why did you give me the tea-box?"

The Englishman cast his eyes down with a painful smile, "You shouldn't be asking this, Kiku. If you're determined to kill me, you should do it now."

"I want your answer, Arthur," the youth commanded with irritation, "If you knew I was an enemy, then why did you give me something so important?"

Arthur released the latter's small hands, "Do it now before it's too late."

"Answer me!"

"Because it was then that I realized I had made the biggest mistake in my life," he admitted guiltily, his voice became unsteady, "I've done far too many things to be forgiven, and I couldn't bear to lie to you anymore."

He subtly placed the fallen dagger into the small hands, whispering gently, "This is the end. I either die by your hands or theirs."

Arthur's eyes brimmed with pain, as he closed the delicate fingers on the knife handle, his voice rising once more, "I only wanted you to know that I love you, Kiku."

The Japanese man clenched the given knife, raised it up, and, with a cry of distress, slammed it down with all his might. Fine strands of hair flew about, concealing the stream of tears trickling down along his cheeks. Self-restraint crumbled as he embraced the man beneath him. He gasped, choking in mournful lament of the work of his hands. Crimson liquid soaked around the knife and bled into Kiku's long, white sleeves. The blood was spilled as droplets of his tears fell on Arthur's paling visage. Revenge had been claimed, leaving the Japanese man no prouder than he was.

"Sayonara…" Kiku closed his eyes as he kissed Arthur on the lips...

But this is the end, and there was no going back...

...EPILOGUE...

Dabbing the sweat from his forehead with a hankerchief, Kiku marveled at the white and yellow chrysanthemums, having blossomed a second batch of flowers for the season. It was a nice surprise, considering that the plants were hardly lasting through the winter. To his delight, the chrysanthemums had bloomed quite beautifully; their stems were strong and firm; their broad florets of loosely arranged petals burgeoned invitingly of the new season. Adjacent were the newly planted roses, having flourished in the most variegated fashion.

"Kiku!" Mei called out from the doorway, "It's our turn to make lunch. Hurry up before Brother Yao gets home!"

"I'll be there in a moment," the brother acquiesced, and the little sister nodded before she went on her way.

Then, she popped her head from the red door again and announced giddily, "Oh, and Ivan's coming too, so we'll need to make extras."

Kiku bobbed his head, confirming her message.

In the past three months, Yao had healed progressively and eventually returned to the Circle. The organization had yet to recover from the damages of internal conflicts and factions, but the Chinese man's battles were not fought alone. Having concurred on the unification, he had been able to rebuild with the help of the Union, brick by brick. Recuperation proved to be difficult, but not impossible, and that gave Yao some hope as he sweated through his labors. Regaining some normality, the family felt slightly relieved of the weight on its shoulders, though Yong Soo and Kiku occasionally bickered over little things.

The Japanese man quietly snipped off a rose, set it into a clear vase of water, and placed it near the open window of his room. For a moment, he paused to gaze at the scarlet floret - just like the one in _his_ flat...

"Kiku," Hong arrived before him as expressionless as ever, "I'll take care of the garden. You should probably go to the kitchen before Mei starts complaining."

The elder one acceded, handing Hong the scissors as he headed to the kitchen. _How lovely_, Kiku noted as he raised his eyes to the blue sky once more. His hand grabbed his chest tautly, as he reminisced of those bittersweet days.

THE END


End file.
